


Tomorrowland

by winterfool



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, drabble challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:45:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterfool/pseuds/winterfool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the war, Harry still has plenty of demons left to fight.</p><p>Post-DH, not compliant with the epilogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning

Harry had a complicated relationship with newspapers. He had never been overly fond of them, having been a favourite subject of journalists since his formative years. A part of him understood that it was more than just entertainment at his expense, that people wanted to know about him: the Boy Who Lived, tragically orphaned, unaware of who he really was until his eleventh birthday, his years at Hogwarts filled with danger, trauma and death, finally coming to face-to-face with Voldemort at only seventeen and prevailing to save the wizarding world. Understanding that, however, did not make it any less discomfiting for him when he settled down to read the latest news in _The Daily Prophet_ but was instead faced with yet another article about the famous Harry Potter. 

He had hoped that after all the articles about the Battle of Hogwarts and Voldemort’s death, each new journalist apparently trying to out-do one another in exaggerating Harry’s talent and bravery, that it might be over. That the media might finally leave him alone to live in peace. For a while it seemed like they had, but that, he realised, was just because he had been so busy; there were so many funerals to attend, more than anyone should have to attend in a lifetime, and so many of them for his friends, people for whom he had cared deeply; he had been involved in organising a memorial for the dead, and rebuilding Hogwarts; he had been helping Kingsley and the surviving members of the Order deal with chaos left behind at the Ministry and searching for the scattered remnants of Voldemort’s supporters. He simply hadn’t had the time to read every edition of _The Daily Prophet_ and his friends had kept most of the articles from him, knowing they would only frustrate and embarrass him.

Three months had passed since the last battle, and still each day seemed to bring a new exposition on the hero of the wizarding world. They speculated over how he had felt duelling Voldemort, comparing it to Dumbledore’s famous duel with Grindelwald in 1945. They reported every speech he gave at every funeral, and his expression every time he buried another friend. They gossiped about his rumoured relationship with Ginny Weasley and whether or not it was affected by his close friendship with Hermione Granger, whom he had once reportedly been involved with only to be left broken hearted when she left him for Viktor Krum. They speculated over what career path he might choose. Every wizarding newspaper, magazine and radio show in Britain were clamouring to interview him.

It galled him to think that there might be no part of his life that was private ever again. He resented that the media seemed to think it had some kind of right to those details. It made him angry when he read things that were just not true, such as his alleged previous relationship with Hermione. He didn’t have time for the lies and the rumours, yet they lodged in his head and in his spare moments he found himself thinking about them. It made cold, horrible waves of humiliation wash over him, and he hated himself for dwelling on them. He hated that amidst all the darkness and horror of his life, the media had such power over him. In an effort to rid himself of such thoughts he threw himself into repairing the damage the war had wrought on the country.

His friends began to worry about him, knowing the stories were getting to him but that he didn’t want to talk about them. Eventually Hermione cornered him in the kitchen of the Burrow one day and refused to let him avoid the subject. 

“Don’t misunderstand,” she said, in that matter-of-fact way she had, “The work you’re doing to help rebuild is wonderful. But we all know you’re trying to avoid all these articles about you. They’re upsetting you.”

Harry scowled. “Of course they’re upsetting me. Wouldn’t they upset you? Every day there’s a new story, wondering if the fight with Voldemort has left me mentally unstable, what might be going on between me and Ginny, if I’m going to be offered the position of Minister for Magic, for Merlin’s sake! Why can’t they just leave me alone? You’d think after I told them for the fiftieth time that I’m not doing any interviews they’d get the point. It’s worse than fifth year!”

“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?”

“What?” Harry looked at her in confusion.

“Every day new stories are coming out with more and more speculation, because you refuse to talk to them.”

“I think that’s oversimp-”

Hermione’s knowing glare stopped him short. It was the same look she used to wear at school, if he argued with her over homework or studying. The look that said, _You know I’m right so why bother arguing?_

“It’s not oversimplifying anything,” she said. “You won’t give any interviews, so the journalists are making things up. Like it or not, Harry, people want to read about you. So when you won’t talk, the newspapers aren’t left with much choice.”

“Does this lecture have a point, or did you just want to tell me that this is my own fault?” 

Hermione gave him a sour, hurt look and he felt a twinge of guilt for snapping. Only a twinge though; Hermione knew that his temper was wearing thin and that this was not a conversation he wanted to have, so she couldn’t be too surprised when he didn’t take kindly to being forced to have it. 

“You said it yourself. It’s like fifth year.”

“I said it’s _worse_ than fifth year,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Regardless,” she spoke loudly over him, “Do you remember how we finally got most of the people saying things about you to leave you alone in fifth year?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you telling me you have Rita Skeeter hidden away in here somewhere?”

Hermione sighed, no doubt thinking he was being purposefully obtuse. Which he was, a little. Misery loved company, as they said, and mean as he knew it was he couldn’t deny that it was somewhat gratifying to irritate Hermione when she was trying to tell him what to do. “No. I’m talking about you doing an interview. Just one.”

“But I don’t want to _give_ any interviews, even one. That’s the point, Hermione.”

“Which is all fine and good, but it’s not making them leave you alone. They’re not just going to lose interest in you. You’re the Boy who Lived, the saviour of the wizarding world!”

“ _I never asked to be_ \--” Harry started hotly, but Hermione cut across him again.

“I _know_. I know.” She sighed, and looked up at him with sympathetic eyes. “But that’s what you are. And your reclusiveness just makes you all the more interesting. All I’m saying is if you give one interview, give them some of the answers they want, they might stop clamouring at you for a while.”

His shoulders slumped as he took in what she was saying. Lingering annoyance with the world warred in his stomach with guilt for taking that anger out on Hermione, who had stood loyally by him every step of the way when no one else, not even Ron, had, and had never tried to do anything but help him. When he replied, it was in a quiet voice, “Who do you think I should give this interview too, then?” 

She smiled. “ _The Quibbler_ , of course. Let Luna interview you. You know she won’t print anything you’d be unhappy with.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards for a brief second as he imagined Luna interviewing him. Knowing her, she would probably be more interested in his opinion on the Minister for Magic’s secret army of Heliopaths than his future career. 

“Does this means you’ll do it?” Hermione asked, seeing his ghost of a smile.

“It means I’ll think about it.”

It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but it was the only answer he would give. Of course, her words stayed with him long after they had both left the Burrow and lingered in his mind long into the night. He lay awake until the small hours of the morning, mulling over her suggestion to let Luna interview him for The Quibbler, warring with his desire to hold tight to his privacy and refuse to the give the wizarding world any more than he already had. With extreme reluctance he admitted to himself that ignoring the media wasn’t making them lose interest in him. He thought back to his fifth year, to _The Daily Prophet_ ’s relentless campaign to depict him as delusional, with a pathological need for attention. To how finally speaking out in _The Quibbler_ had silenced so many of his naysayers. In fact, it had won him the support of many of those who had previously doubted and criticised him. He remembered the flood of post he had received in the wake of that article, and how uplifted he had been with each new letter from someone who believed and supported him. 

Luna hadn’t needed convincing. He remembered the day she had run up to him before his Herbology lesson to breathlessly declare her belief in him and how much that had meant to him, despite the dottiness that had then unnerved him but which he had long since come to find endearing, in those days when it felt like the world was against him. Luna had supported him as much as anyone, and until her kidnapping so had _The Quibbler_. Though the situations then and now were different, perhaps giving this one interview would bring him some of the peace he so badly wanted. 

By the time the first rosy light of dawn was creeping over the horizon, Harry had risen and started a letter to Luna asking if she would be willing to write an interview with him for _The Quibbler_. If she was, he wrote, then would she come to see him that afternoon at Grimmauld Place? He ended with, _Your friend, Harry_. He had not been able to forget the image of the portraits in Luna’s room of himself, Hermione, Ron, Neville and Ginny, nor the shimmering golden word ‘friends’ painted over and over, forming chains that connected them. He wanted to try and convey to her, even if only in the smallest way, that he valued her friendship as much as she did his. 

He had not had the heart to replace Hedwig with another owl after the war, so he sent Kreacher to deliver the letter for him. It wasn’t long before the house elf returned with Luna’s reply: she would be thrilled to interview him, and would be over at 3 o’ clock that afternoon. 

She arrived promptly on time, wearing her usual, dreamy smile. Harry was glad to see that the bruises and marks from her time in Malfoy Manor had finally faded, so that he could almost believe they had never been there. Her long blonde hair was twisted up into a loose knot, with her wand stuck through it and seemingly holding it in place. She still wore her necklace of butterbeer corks, but had left her dirigible plum earrings off. Poking out of the satchel-like bag slung over her shoulder Harry could see several rolls of parchment and what looked like a set of rainbow-coloured quills. 

“Oh, you can never have too many quills,” she said when he pointed them out. “You never know what might happen.” 

Not quite sure what Luna meant, but knowing it was probably best not to inquire, Harry showed her through to the kitchen. Since his time in Grimmauld Place was mostly divided between there and the room he slept in, these days it was the most welcoming room of the house. He had asked Kreacher to bake a gingerbread loaf, knowing it was one of Luna’s favourites, which sat golden and inviting on the kitchen table. 

“I was surprised to get your message,” Luna remarked as Harry cut her a slice, “You were so determined not to give any interviews.”

“Yeah, I know. “

“You said that newspapers were ‘poxy lying rags’ that you wanted nothing to do with.”

“Well, they are,” Harry said, a little defensively, now cutting himself some gingerbread. “But I’m not having anything to do with them. I’m having something to do with _The Quibbler_.” Luna smiled at the praise of her father’s magazine. “Hermione thought that saying something, giving people some answers, might satisfy them enough that they’ll leave me alone more.”

Luna nodded. “She’s very intelligent, Hermione. Although she can be a little closed-minded at times.”

They chatted for a while as they ate, meandering through various topics: Slughorn’s Christmas party, the D.A. meetings. Harry asked Luna about the expeditions she used to take with the father and she happily described their trips to Sweden and the varying levels of success they had experienced in hunting Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, which didn’t seem to be much but Harry decided not to mention that. 

When both their plates were clear, Luna pulled out the parchment and one of her quills – a butter-yellow in colour, so different from Rita Skeeter’s acid green quick-quotes quill that had plagued Harry throughout the years.

“Daddy was very excited when I told him about your letter,” she said. “Rebuilding the printing press was quite expensive. And the last time we did an interview with you, it sold more copies than any other edition of _The Quibbler_.”

Harry felt a stab of guilt as he remembered the Death Eaters descending on the Lovegood house, looking for him, Xenophilius’ desperation as he told them they were holding Luna captive. 

“Daddy told me … about what happened that day,” Luna continued quietly, smoothing out the parchment on the table, “That he told them you were there. I’m very sorry he did that. So is he.”

Harry stared at her. “ _You’re_ sorry? Luna, they kidnapped you! He was just trying to protect you.”

“Your life was more important that mine.” Her voice was mild, matter-of-fact, as if she was stating that apples were preferable to oranges. To her it was just a simple truth, but it made Harry want to squirm in his chair. Luna’s knack for blunt honesty was one of her most endearing and most discomfiting traits.

“Not to your father.”

“I know. That’s why I forgave him. But even so, he shouldn’t have done it.”

Harry shook his head. “I never held it against him. I …I’m just sorry that I was so selfish. I never thought about what they might have done to your father, or to you. I’m sorry that you got hurt because of me. Because the two of you supported me.” 

She looked at him thoughtfully. “It wasn’t just your war, you know. And there were people that were hurt a lot worse than I was.”

In that moment, in Luna’s clear, silvery gaze he could see that she had scars of her own. That a lot of the dreamy innocence she had carried around with her had been stripped away. The war had left no one unscathed. Luna was just a lot better at hiding it than he was. 

“I know,” he said finally. “I’m still sorry.”

“You blame yourself for too much.”

His lips twitched. “I know that, too.” 

Luna grinned and turned back to the parchment. She lifted her quill before realising that she had neglected to take the ink out of her bag, which she hastily retrieved. Finally she set the quill to the parchment, then hesitated and frowned.

“I don’t quite know what to do now,” she admitted. “I’ve written about the best way to catch Gulping Plimpies and how to deal with a Nargle infestation, but I’ve never interviewed a person before.”

For the first time it what seemed like months, Harry gave a real smile. “Just talk to me. Ask me questions about my plans for the future and …stuff.”

Luna nodded. “Okay. Hermione was saying she’s going to come back to Hogwarts with me and Ginny, to finish her N.E.W.T.s. Do you think you’ll come back?”

“I’ve thought about it,” he said, “But going to back to the classroom after everything…” his voice trailed off and he shook his head. “Besides, Kingsley Shacklebolt has offered me a position as an Auror without finishing my N.E.W.T.s, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“Well, I think anyone would agree you’ll do very well at it,” Luna remarked, much to his pleasure. “So you’re not going to pursue Quidditch? There were a lot of people saying you might.”

Harry shook his head. “No. I love Quidditch, and always will, but it’s not what I want to do as a career.”

Luna nodded, scratching out his answers with her quill. “Are you going to get back together with Ginny?” 

Though he hadn’t been sure exactly what line of questioning Luna would take, he had tried to steel himself for enquiries about his love life. It was just as uncomfortable as he had been afraid of, and he felt his face heating with embarrassment. It felt even stranger than when he had been all but interrogated by Rita Skeeter; for all her eccentricities and her role now as his interview, Luna was still a very close friend to both him and to Ginny. Yet, Harry hadn’t before realised, much as they talked about almost everything else they had never discussed his relationships. 

Still, it was Luna and not Rita. That somehow made it easier for him to answer honestly, knowing she wouldn’t twist his words or look for any hidden meanings or judge him. 

“I … don’t know,” he confessed. “I care about her, a lot. But I don’t think I would be good for her right now. With the war, and everything … I have a lot of healing to do. Until I do that, I don’t think I can be in a relationship.” 

There was a moment of silence, then Luna asked gently, “Can I ask you about it? About the war? People still wonder where you were, and where you went that year.”

Harry nodded. “I’ve thought about it a lot, and I think people deserve to know.” He took a breath, and told Luna what precious few people knew. “Before he tried to kill me the first time and vanished, Voldemort created six horcruxes.” 

“Horcruxes?”

“He hid bits of his soul in different objects. That’s why he didn’t die before – there were pieces of his soul still living in the world. Dumbledore found out and told me just before he died. I was hunting them down and destroying them, so that when I finally faced Voldemort he could be killed.”

Luna’s eyes widened. She had known that he was doing something to weaken Voldemort, but not what exactly. 

“Ron and Hermione went with you?”

“I couldn’t have done it without them,” he nodded, and because this was to be his only interview, and because he was talking to Luna, he gave her as concise a version as he could of what he had gone through to hunt down Voldemort’s horcruxes. 

He explained how Dumbldore had formed his suspicions from Riddle’s diary, and how he had researched Tom Riddle’s past to find hints and information on the remaining horcruxes. He told Luna about the ring, about hunting down the locket, finding the cup, coming to the realisation that the diadem was at Hogwarts.

“The final horcux was his snake, Nagini, which Neville killed with the Sword of Gryffindor in the battle.”

He made it sound more like detective work than it really had been, and omitted any mention of his own connection to Voldemort. That was information he did not want the wizarding world at large to know.

“You’re still haunted by it, aren’t you? The battle.” 

“Why do you say that?”

“The shadows in your eyes.” 

He was abruptly reminded of Bill and Fleur’s wedding; of how Luna had immediately recognised him even under the guise of Polyjuice potion. He wondered if he was simply an open book, or if Luna had a particular knack for being able to read him. 

Either way, there didn’t seem much point in lying. She had already set down her quill, silently promising that this would not be part of the interview.

“I… I have dreams,” he admitted, feeling somehow weak and foolish as he said it. “Of the battle. Of Voldemort. Everybody who died … I see their faces. Their bodies. I live that day over and over. Sometimes I change things. But mostly I just … watch them die all over again.” 

“You did everything you could with the knowledge you had. None of their deaths were your fault.”

“I know that. But I still feel like I’m to blame.”

“You know that’s how he’d want you to feel?” That brought up him short, and he lifted his eyes to look at her, bewildered. “He started the war, Harry. Not you. You can’t save everyone ... but you tried. And that’s what’s important.”

Her voice carried its own undercurrent of pain and loss, and her grey eyes were watching him earnestly, as though she could say more silently than she ever could with words. Remembering why it was she could see thestrals, he wondered if those were words she had told herself. Not trusting his own voice, he nodded. Then, after a few minutes of silence, he found himself telling Luna what he hadn’t previously been able to admit out loud even to himself.

“I feel lost. Ever since I came to Hogwarts, since I learned the truth about who I am, one way or another my life has revolved around Voldemort. It was always about fighting him. Stopping him. It feels like a huge part of my life is just over. Even though I’m glad … I don’t know what to do now.”

Luna was quiet for a moment. “Maybe you should stop thinking of it as an ending, and more of a beginning. You get a fresh start. You get to live your life for you, and not for anybody else.” 

It was something he’d thought to himself in the dark of night, but always squashed. He had thought it would be selfish, doing what he wanted instead of being what others needed. Hearing Luna say out loud that it was okay sent a wave of relief washing over him. 

“Besides, it’s not like it’s really over.”

“What?”

She smiled patiently. “Why are you joining the Aurors?” 

“I … to catch dark wizards. To protect people.”

She nodded as if that proved her point. When he still looked blank, she said, “To protect people. You want to make sure that what Voldemort did never happens again.” 

He stared at her.

“Like you said, your life revolved around it. That will always affect your decisions. Only now it doesn’t have to be the only focus in your life.”

He said nothing, only wondering how she managed to do that: to push past his confusion and trouble expressing what it was he really thought, and understand his feelings and motivations. To put them into words so he could understand them. 

Luna didn’t seem to realise that was what she was doing, however. She was gathering up her parchment and rolling it back up into a neat scroll. “I think I’ve got everything I need. This was an exciting first interview. I hope I enjoy writing the article as much.” 

Harry showed her to the door, still feeling slightly dazed. Luna was oblivious, though, chattering happily away. She promised to send him the first copy when it was done, and they made a vague agreement to try and meet up as friends before she had to go back to Hogwarts. He watched her Disapparate on the steps outside before silently making his way up to his room. As he passed a mirror he noticed the faint upward curve to his lips, that had before seemed set in a permanent frown. 

Perhaps Luna was right. Perhaps it was time for a new beginning. A life without the constant threat of Voldemort hanging over him, where he could live as he wanted. A life entirely his own. 

He found he rather liked the thought of that.


	2. Accusation

King’s Cross was packed as only a London train station could be. Queues snaked down from the ticket office, the people in them anxiously checking their watches and leaning out to see how fast the lines were moving. Crowds of people milled around the platforms and herded up and down the staircases, heavy suitcases hefted up behind them and lighter bags bumping against backs and shoulders. All the while the several large clocks set about the station gazed down at them all, reminding some people that they were late and needed to get their skates on and letting others know they had plenty of time and didn’t, in fact, need to sprint across the bridge over the platforms.

Harry couldn’t help looking around nervously as he pushed through the crowds after Ron and Hermione, and every now and then reached up to flatten his fringe over his forehead. Any of the children or teenagers hovering around could be Hogwarts students making their way to Platform 9 and ¾. The few carrying owls that he caught sight of definitely were. One of them started to look in his direction and he ducked behind a particularly large man looking up at the electronic board detailing the next hour’s arrivals and departures.

He was already regretting coming into the station. He should have just said goodbye to Hermione in the carpark, and then stayed with the car while Ron saw her on to the train alone. 

_This is what I get for locking myself away over the summer._

Once the rebuilding had been finished, other than a few obligatory visits to the Burrow to have dinner with the Weasleys, he had barely left Grimmauld Place. Going out in public had become too overwhelming; the last time he had visited Diagon Alley he had been stopped practically every time he took a step by someone wanting to shake his hand and thank him for what he’d done. He appreciated the sentiments, of course, but it made living his life so exhausting when he couldn’t set foot outside of the house without being mobbed. 

It hadn’t taken the newspapers very long to work out where he was staying, either. With the end of the war had also come the opportunity to finally clear Sirius’ name, and once the press knew that Harry had been Sirius’ godson and sole heir to his estate it had been easy for them to realise Harry was living in the Blacks’ old residence. Dumbledore’s Fidelius Charm still held, thankfully, so they could not see the house, but the more persistent journalists kept a watch. It was like returning to those first few weeks that Harry, Ron and Hermione had hidden out at Grimmauld Place, apparating to and from the front step to avoid being seen – only this time it was paparazzi, rather than Death Eaters, that Harry was trying to evade. It had gone on for a month or so, until Luna’s article was published.

It had come out two weeks ago now. Luna had sent him a copy in advance, with a little note happily informing him that _The Quibbler_ already had hundreds of orders for the issue the interview was to appear in and the number of subscriptions to the magazine as a whole had already trebled. A photo of him graced the cover of the issue: unlike the large close up of his face that had been used for his last interview with _The Quibbler_ , this was a picture of his stood next to one of the windows in Grimmauld Place. He was stood at an angle, looking slightly to the left to look directly into the camera. A small smile lifted the corner of his lips, but even then his expression was sad and melancholy. His shoulders were slumped as if he carried a burden on them, and his scar was just visible underneath his fringe. Harry had looked at it and wondered if he really looked so … tired. It worked, though, somehow, and matched the understated headline:

EXCLUSIVE: HARRY POTTER TALKS ABOUT HIS PART IN THE SECOND WIZARDING WAR. 

Harry had started reading with a slight fluttering of nerves in the pit of his stomach, but within the first few lines they had already faded: 

_Harry Potter is known throughout the wizarding world as the Boy who Lived. At the age of one he became the only person ever to have survived the Killing Curse, and seventeen years later he defeated the most feared Dark Wizard who has ever lived: Lord Voldemort._

_I know Harry Potter as something quite different: my friend. He asked me to interview him as a favour, and while he didn’t, as I had hoped, confirm the existence of the Minister for Magic’s secret army of Heliopaths, he did have a number of interesting things to say about the war that ended this May and what he plans to do next._

Harry had been surprised to find himself chuckling. The article was written with Luna’s characteristic blend of kindness, honesty and eccentricity. She faithfully related everything he had told her, not twisting or exaggerating his words as Rita Skeeter had once done, yet still managed to add in her own unique tangents and digressions:

_Harry said he has thought about returning to Hogwarts alongside Hermione Granger to finish his N.E.W.T.s, but ultimately decided against it. “Kingsley Shacklebolt has offered me a position as an Auror without finishing my N.E.W.T.s, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”_

_Becoming an Auror does seem an appropriate career for the man who defeated Lord Voldemort, but Harry I do hope you’ll be careful and keep alert for any signs of the Rotfang Conspiracy (discussed in_ Quibbler _issues #112 and #125). I’m sure you’re quite above using Dark Magic, but no one is immune to gum disease and it’s a very nasty thing. I’ve read that it quite changes the way people think, so if your mind seems to be working any differently you should probably make an appointment at St. Mungo’s right away._

_There are probably a few people who will feel disappointed that Harry is not planning on becoming a professional Quidditch player as he is a very talented Seeker, but at the very least you can console yourselves that he’ll never have to worry about developing Loser’s Lurgy._

He had felt a wave of affection and gratitude towards her when it came to mentioning his love life:

_There has been some speculation over Harry’s relationship status, which isn’t really anybody else’s business but people do tend to be quite nosy, don’t they? Anyway, since people are curious he was kind enough to let me ask about it. He said, “I have a lot of healing to do. Until I do that, I don’t think I can be in a relationship.” Which is entirely understandable, so I really don’t think there’s anything more to say on the subject._

By the end of the article he had been laughing as he couldn’t remember doing for months, and had been very grateful that he had taken Hermione’s advice and allowed Luna to interview him. He had written back to her to tell her how much he had enjoyed reading it, and that he hoped they could meet up again soon. They had had lunch two days later; Luna had been tired but bright-eyed, because she and her father were having to print copies of _The Quibbler_ day and night to keep up with the demand for the latest issue.

“It’s on track to outsell the last interview we did with you,” she told him over a cup of tea and a slice of cheesecake (another of her favourites). “Personally I don’t understand why everyone finds you so much more interesting that Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, but Daddy thinks he’ll be able to recuperate most of his losses from when the press was broken. Not that you’re not interesting,” she added, “but it’s hard to beat Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. They’re such fascinating creatures.”

And of course, Hermione had been right. After the interview was published, the press began to back off. Rather than making up new, ever more wild and bizarre, stories, they began speculating about the information contained in the _Quibbler_ article. Exactly how much psychological trauma might Harry be dealing with? How much healing would he have to do? How would his fame affect his chosen career path? The Daily Prophet even did a special issue on horcruxes, explaining in detail how they would have empowered Voldemort and how difficult it would have been for Harry to destroy them (he hoped publicising knowledge of them wasn’t a recipe for disaster). 

He was still talked about, of course. And it was still unsettling to articles about him in amongst other news. But they had stopped pestering him directly, and the journalists that had been hanging around outside his house had finally left. So he counted it as a win.

This was the first time he had deliberately put himself in a situation where he was likely to become the centre of attention, however. He hadn’t really wanted to come, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to say no when Hermione asked if he would come to King’s Cross to see her off. 

The Weasleys were already on the platform with Ginny, but he and Ron had waited in the car park for Hermione’s parents to drop her off. (It had been easy for Hermione to find them in Australia after the war had ended; when she altered their memories, she had put a trace on them at the same time. She had used the Floo network to travel to the fireplace nearest to their new home the week after the battle at Hogwarts and removed the spell on them. They had been quite surprised to find themselves on the other side of the planet and furious with their daughter when they discovered why. They had returned to Britain the next month after sorting out their Visas.) Traffic had held them up but there had still been twenty minutes to spare when they pulled in, so they were pushing through the crowds in a hurry but did not yet feel the need to flat out run for the train. 

“There’s the barrier,” Hermione called from ahead of him.

They emerged from the swirling crowd of people in front of the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10, just in time to see a young girl disappear through it with her parents. Ron angled the trolley with Hermione’s trunk on it and glance at the others. “We ready?”

“Maybe… maybe I should just say goodbye here,” Harry suggested, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Hermione seized his arm in an iron grip. “You promised.”

“I don’t think I –” 

But it was too late. Hermione started striding towards the barrier and Harry was dragged inexorably along. He just had time to take a deep breath to steel himself before the gateway closed around him and he emerged blinking on to Platform 9 and ¾. 

The Hogwarts Express stood stationery before him, a sleek, scarlet steam engine. It sent a sudden pang through Harry to see it and realise he wouldn’t be getting on it. He watched with the students loading their trunks and pets on to train, greeting their friends and exchanging news with faint envy. He also found himself smiling: despite the war, it seemed nothing could dull the excitement of going to Hogwarts. For now at least. His smile wavered as he considered that enthusiasm might wane once they got to the castle and remembered the empty seats. 

“There you are!” 

He turned to see Ginny striding towards him and Hermione. She looked good, Harry couldn’t help but notice. Her dark red hair flowed around her shoulders, and her eyes were bright. There was still a touch of sadness to her smile, though. She looked towards Hermione as she approached.

“I’ve got us a compartment. Well, for when you can join us,” she grinned, looking pointedly at the Head Girl badge pinned to Hermione’s chest. 

“Where is it?” Ron asked, “I’ll take your trunk.”

“Near the front of the train. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Her eyes flickered very briefly over Harry before she turned and led Ron across the platform. Harry felt a stab of guilt. Their friendship hadn’t been as easy since the war. She said she understood that he was damaged, that he needed time by himself to heal. He thought she did. She was grieving too. Still, whenever he saw her he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still hoping each time they spoke that he might be ready, that she was still waiting for him. Much as he still cared for her, he wished she wouldn’t. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t know if he would ever be ready. And waiting for him wouldn’t make her happy. He wanted her to be happy.

He came back to the present to find that people had started to notice his presence. Children were pointing him out to their parents and adults were whispering to each other. A few who had known him at school waved, most simply stared in awe.

“Here we go,” he muttered.

“I’m surprised you’re not used to it by now,” Hermione tried to joke, but it was clear she was unnerved by the attention herself. “Thanks for coming. I know you didn’t really want to.”

“That’s alright. You’ve been through worse for me.”

“I’m not sure I have, you know.”

That made him smile a bit. Hermione turned to face him, blocking out some of the other faces looking their way.

“It’s going to be so strange, being at Hogwarts without you and Ron. Promise you’ll write?”

“I promise.”

She smiled, and he could see her nerves. He was abruptly reminded of her in their first year and the bravado and confidence she had seemed to display, that he and Ron had initially found quite grating. He wondered now if that had been cover how scared she was, entering a new world all on her own. 

“I’ll let you know when the Hogsmeade weekends are, so you can come and visit. You will – you will come?”

He nodded. “Of course I will.”

Abruptly she flung her arms around his neck and he found his vision completely obscured by her bushy brown her hair. After a moment’s surprise, he brought his arms up and returned the hug.

“Good luck with your job, Harry. Please do try and get out a bit more. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine. But I will. I’ll try.” Harry smiled into her hair. “Have a good year, Hermione. You’ll be a brilliant Head Girl. And we all know you’ll get top marks for your N.E.W.Ts.”

“Oh, don’t.” Hermione drew back, flustered. “I hope I will, but, well. You never know.”

“Don’t be silly, of course we do. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yes, see you soon.”

They stepped back from each other just as Ron returned from loading Hermione’s trunk on to the train. He threw both of them a grin, then slipped his hand into Hermione’s. “Come on, you’ll miss the train.”

She gave Harry a last smile, then let her boyfriend lead her towards the train. Harry hung back, knowing the couple would want to say goodbye alone. Instead, he glanced around the rest of the platform trying to find Luna. She, too, would be heading back to Hogwarts for her final year, and he had said he would look for her.

Even as he thought it, he felt someone approaching from his left and his shoulders instinctively tense. But the voice that spoke by his ear was familiar, dreamy, and more than welcome.

“Hello, Harry.”

“Luna,” he looked around, pleased to see her and be able to say a goodbye. She was gazing attentively around the platform, and if he didn’t know her and she hadn’t spoken, he might have thought she was completely unaware he was even there. Her blonde waves were pulled back into a French plait that was draped over one shoulder down towards her waist, leaving her dirigible plum earrings on proud display. Her wand was in its customary place behind her ear. “Hi. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m very well, thank you. I’m glad you decided to come after all.”

He hadn’t directly told her that he had been considering not coming, but somehow it didn’t surprise him that she had read between the lines. 

“I think Hermione would have jinxed me if I hadn’t.”

Amusement touched her eyes. “That would be unpleasant.”

“No kidding,” he said, with a faint, barely-there grin. “I ... I am glad I came, too. Although it is still weird being stared at.” He glanced back up the platform. A few people looked quickly away in case he caught their eye, but more kept on staring and whispering. 

“Yes ... people are strange, aren’t they? They’re looking at you like a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.”

Harry’s brows knotted together in confusion; he wasn’t entirely sure he understood the analogy. “How d’you mean?”

“Oh, you know, like something rare.” Luna waved a hand airily. “Daddy and I have spent so long searching for them, I suppose if we found one we’d stare at it like that, because it would be so unusual. Not like owls or something we see every day.”

He wondered if she meant that to be advice, or if she was just her usual habit of being honest and just happening to be insightful. It was the same thing Hermione had been telling him, if he was honest himself – that hiding away would just make him more of a spectacle when he did emerge, which would make it impossible for him to ever have the degree of normalcy he so desperately wanted – but somehow it was easier to swallow coming from Luna. Maybe it was because it was an off-hand remark, instead of a lecture; Luna spoke thoughtfully but also gently. With Hermione, as much Harry was grateful for her advice and knew she was only lecturing because she cared, there are always a slightly maddening air of superiority. 

“That’s a good point,” he said. “So, is your stuff already on the train?”

“Yes, Dad dropped me off a little while ago. I am looking forward to going back.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of jealous. I mean, I’m glad I’m not doing N.E.W.T.s, but I’ll miss Hogwarts.”

Luna nodded. “It’ll be different, though.”

She didn’t have to elaborate for him to understand. That was the only thing that made not going back bearable; he didn’t think he could have coped with walking through the corridors of Hogwarts and going to classes like any other year, but all the while thinking about all the people who weren’t there, all the people he hadn’t been able to save. 

Feeling uncomfortable, he shifted from foot to foot, then changed the subject to something much less painful, “Hermione’s going to let us know when the Hogsmeade weekends are. You’ll come and join us?”

She smiled brightly. She often had a small, dreamy upturn to her lips but when she smiled fully like now it lit up her whole face. It was usually, Harry had noticed, when she was asked to do things or spend time with her friends. Just the idea that other people might want to be with her seemed to give her such joy. “I’d like that.”

“Good. And I’ll write.”

“That’ll be nice.” She looked back towards the platform. “Anyway, the train’s due to leave soon, so I should probably be going.”

“Oh, right.” Harry had forgotten it was nearly time for the train to leave. 

Ron had reappeared and nodded at Luna as he joined the two of them. “Hey, Luna. All okay?”

“Yes, thank you, Ronald. It was nice talking with you, Harry. I’ll see you at Hogsmeade.”

“You too.” He pulled a hand of his pocket, but shaking hands with Luna seemed like too awkward and formal a gesture, so he ended up giving a strange sort of wave. “Have a good term.”

“Enjoy your job.” She waved back, the gesture seeming much more natural coming from here. “Bye, Harry. Bye, Ron.” 

She practically drifted along the platform towards the train. Ron shook his head, a laughing smile playing about his mouth. He was still not quite convinced Luna wasn’t completely off her rocker, but Harry knew he considered her a good friend and held an amused kind of affection for her. What Harry wasn’t prepared for was Ron turning back to him with a sharply assessing look on his face.

“So what’s going on with you two, then, eh?”

“What? What d’you mean?” Harry said defensively.

“Oh, you know. She interviews you, you go out for lunch, now you’re all cosy chatting on the platform and promising to meet up at Hogwarts. What am I supposed to think?”

“Nothing is going on between me and Luna.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Are you accusing me of something?”

Ron shrugged. “Not specifically. I’m asking. But even if I’m not, you know the press will. And what will Ginny think of that?”

“I’d hope she has enough sense not to believe everything she reads in papers by now!”

“Mate, I’m just saying. She’s my little sister, I don’t want her to get hurt any more than she already has been.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Pressure seemed to be building behind his eyes, and his head was starting to ache. “Ron, we’ve been over this.”

“That was before you starting having lunch with Luna.”

“It was _once_. She’s a _friend_. And besides, even if it was something – _which it’s not_ – Ginny and I aren’t together anymore.”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say because Ron, who had been fairly calm until now, starting scowling, anger flashing in his eyes. “You know she’s waiting for you.”

“And you know I don’t want her to!”

There was a silence. Ron’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides. Sighing, Harry took a deep breath and tried again.

“I mean. You know I care about her. But I don’t know if – I’m not the same person I was, Ron. None of us are. And –” he paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “I can’t promise her anything. I don’t want her to think I am. I don’t want her to hang on as if I have, because that’ll just make it worse. And I’m sorry you’re in the middle of this, but I can’t help that.” 

Ron reached up to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I am. And I’ll talk to Ginny.”

“Thanks. And about Luna –”

“I know nothing’s going on, really.” The tone of his voice seemed to say, _Of course I know nothing’s going on – it’s Loony Lovegood_ , and that, for some reason, irritated Harry, but he was too relieved not to be getting into another fight with his best friend to say anything. Not that he blamed Ron – it couldn’t be easy trying to mediate a break-up between your best friend and your sister. Especially when the reason for it was so complicated.

But as he’d said, he couldn’t help that. All he could do for now was stand side by side with Ron and wave goodbye to Hermione as the Hogwarts Express pulled away, and try to ignore the hollow ache inside him because he wasn’t on the train with her, and hope that, with time, it would all get easier.


	3. Restless

Nights were the worst times. When the dark closed in and the world was silent, Harry couldn’t seem to control the maelstrom of thoughts that swirled around his mind. Face after face seemed to swim before his eyes, all the colour and vivacity of life drained from them, eyes wide open and staring at nothing; pale shadows over which death had draped a veil. And yet despite their lifelessness there was still somehow something accusatory about them, echoes of their voices whispering, _We died because you couldn’t save us. Because you took too long._

For a time, Harry had tried sleeping with a light on, as if that might make the details of his memories less vivid, or less real. It didn’t work. So he returned to darkness, whispered apologies that he knew would never be enough to each face that he remembered and sometimes, eventually, slipped into short, restless bursts of sleep in which he relived their deaths, only to wake shaking and sweating. He knew he sometimes shouted in his sleep, too, because Kreacher had come running the first several nights thinking there was an intruder, but the house-elf had long since grown accustomed to his master’s fitful nights and, at his request, now left him be. 

In truth, he missed the work of rebuilding everything that had been destroyed. It had been hard, gruelling work, but that was what he had liked about it; he could throw himself into it, and when he came home at night he was numb and exhausted and able to fall into a dreamless sleep for once. He hadn’t exactly felt rested during those months, but he hadn’t felt quite so hollow and drained as he did when the dreams came.

Being an Auror, unfortunately, didn’t quite measure up. For every day they spent in pursuit of war criminals still on the loose, they spent ten buried in paperwork – following up on leads, witness statements, trying to find the criminals so that they could catch them. Not to mention all the paperwork and report filing that needed doing when they did venture out into the field. Ron had joked more than once that they would be doing less writing if they had gone back to Hogwarts to do their N.E.W.T.s with Hermione. 

What it did mean, however, was that there was always plenty of paperwork left to do when Harry left the office for the day, and so on nights like tonight, when the dreams were particularly bad and he just couldn’t sleep, he could get up and travel back to the ministry via the floo network and there would be a pile of work waiting to distract him. 

Coming to the ministry in the night was a strange experience. There were always a few night workers on shift, in case of emergencies, and it was also when most of the ministry got cleaned, since with the majority of the staff gone there was less risk of an accident or explosion making messes more quickly than they could be cleaned. But for the most part it was empty and quiet, every footstep echoing along the tiled halls, and occasionally reminded Harry more of the night he and his friends had broken into the Department of Mysteries because he believed Sirius was in trouble than he cared to admit.

The security detail had gotten used to seeing Harry coming and going at odd hours, and nodded in greeting as he emerged from one of the fireplaces and headed towards the lift. In the months since the end of the war the atrium had undergone yet another makeover, as Kingsley had ordered any remnant of Voldemort and the regime he had approved to be purged. The fountain halfway down the main hall had been restored to a version of glittering golden statue Harry had seen when he had first set foot in the ministry in the summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts; a witch and wizard with their wands pointing up into the air, a centaur, goblin and house-elf surrounding them. Only now, instead of gazing adoringly at the witch and wizard, the other magical creatures were looking proudly outwards, their own hands raised. There were rumours that a mermaid would be added, possibly along with a veela and representations of other Beings. Kingsley wanted the statue to be a mission statement, an image of what the wizarding world should be like, what they at the ministry should be aspiring to achieve.

Alongside that image of ... well, hope, Harry supposed it was, Kingsley had also made sure to keep a stark reminder of what their world had almost become. On the main wall of the atrium was a huge marble plaque, inscribed with the names of all those who had given their lives in the first and second wizarding wars in order to see an end to Voldemort. Harry’s parents’ names were up there, as was Dumbledore’s, and Sirius’, Lupin’s and Tonks’, Fred Weasley’s, and, at Harry’s insistence and after a long, weary explanation, was Severus Snape’s. 

He had had to explain more than once everything he had seen of Snape’s memories in the pensieve to convince his friends that Snape had not, in fact, been the traitor they all believed. Professor McGonagall in particular had taken it hard; she had gone very quiet and still when Harry told her, in a way that make him think warily of the phrase ‘the calm before the storm’. Minutes had seemed to stretch by as she sat in silence until, abruptly, her mouth thinned and her nostrils flared out, and she went marching up to the Headmaster’s office in Hogwarts and started shouting at Dumbledore’s portrait. There had been a raw fury and pain in her voice that Harry had only ever seen in her the night Dumbledore died. She had shouted until she had no energy left, when instead she simply collapsed into the Headmaster’s chair and wept. Feeling like an intruder on her personal grief, Harry had left her alone, then. He didn’t know if she cried herself out or if Dumbledore’s portrait had said anything to her, but when she came back down she was once against all business and he thought it was best not to mention the incident again.

Most members of the Order had taken Harry’s word, though clearly disturbed by how much Dumbledore had manipulated and lied to them, but others, particularly students Snape had bullied and mistreated, scoffed at the idea that Snape could be anything but a Death Eater to his core. It had taken a lot of convincing on Harry’s part, but Snape’s name on the memorial and the portrait hanging in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts spoke to his success. 

For himself ... Harry understood his old potions’ professor much more now that he was dead than he ever had when he was alive. He had seen first-hand the ugly life Snape had endured, the pain he had carried with him to his grave. Harry knew well enough what it was like to have demons following you around and he could empathise, but he also knew that Snape was a cautionary tale – a man who had continually lashed out and damaged others in response to his own pain. Harry may have forgiven Snape, and he respected him for his bravery in the end, but he couldn’t forget the years of torment Snape had put Harry and his friends through because of his bitterness and anger; he would remember Snape with regret, but not with fondness.

Coming to the lift, Harry stepped inside and, since he was the only one in it, let himself sag against the wall as it started the climb down to the Aurors’ offices. Fatigue seemed to weigh down on him like a physical weight draped across his shoulders, making his limbs heavy and his head ache. The only part of him that wasn’t tired, it seemed, was his mind, which was happy to torment him all night unless he occupied it with other matters.

Ron and Hermione would be angry if they found out he had come to the office again after hours. Hermione had torn a strip off him the previous week when he and Ron had gone to visit her at Hogsmeade, after she’d realised he had been coming in regularly, telling him he had to stop overworking himself or he would work himself to exhaustion. Harry had bit back the urge to tell her that was kind of the point. 

It was a strange kind of relief to get to his desk and see the full inbox waiting for him. He would grab a pile of memos and files waiting to be dealt with and take them home – at least that way if he did manage to work himself to exhaustion he would be amongst his own things. Merlin only knew what Hermione would say if he fell asleep at his desk. And Ron would no doubt tell her and probably his mother, in all innocence, but then Molly, who said often enough she thought of Harry as her own son, would start worrying about him too and that was something Harry really didn’t need. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate that his friends cared about him, and only wanted to make sure he was okay, but they would insist on trying to talk to him about why he wasn’t sleeping. And Harry just wasn’t ready to talk about it. It was bad enough constantly thinking about it; he couldn’t manage to summon the words out loud.

The custodians gave him a wave as he retraced his way back out of the atrium and stepped into one of the fireplaces to go back home. He could have Apparated, of course, but he wasn’t in much of a spell-casting state so there was no telling where he might end up. Not to mention the possibility of splinching himself. No, best not to risk. But, all mental health concerns aside, that was another reason he needed to get this sleep thing sorted out – he would be no good as an Auror if he was too drained to chase down a Death Eater or his spells were too much of a risk.

Coming out into the living room at Grimmauld Place, he slumped down on to one of the couches, letting the pile of work fall down beside him. Maybe he if just closed his eyes for a few minutes he’d be lucky ...

_... flashes of green light filled his vision, almost blinding him, but not blocking the sound of so many cries of pain and screams as people fell all around him. He couldn’t seem to move his feet without stumbling into another body, laid out and staring blankly up at the sky._

_His own heartbeat filled his ears, like a drum pounding out a relentless war beat. It was both comforting and sickening at the same time. He still had work to do. He still had to fight, to make sure that Voldemort could be killed when it came to the last battle no matter who was finally facing him. But he was still alive, when so many others were dead. Dead when, if it wasn’t for him, they might be alive. And there was faces he knew, faces he loved, their eyes boring glassily into him. Lupin, Tonks, Moody, Fred ... and there was Dobby, and Sirius and even Hedwig ... all dead, because he lived._

_It wasn’t green light blinding him anymore. It was his own tears._

He jerked awake with a start, a dull ache sweeping through his head like a wave beating the sand. He groaned, dropping his head into his hands. It looked like another night without sleep, then. Rubbing his eyes, trying to wake himself up further, he took a moment to come to and remember what he had been doing before he dozed off. 

Right, the paperwork.

With a wave of his wand he turned the lights in the room on, the lifted the first two files off the small pile next to him and started flicking through them. Witness statements regarding the locations of two ex-Death Eaters that had escaped the Ministry in the immediate aftermath of the battle in May. They seemed to be moving about the north of England currently; quite apart from wanting to bring them to justice for their war crimes, there was some concern amongst the auror department that, since they hadn’t fled to the continent, they might be trying to make contact with other fugitives and organise some sort of revenge strike, so the sooner they were found and arrested the better. 

Harry had been given the witnesses’ statements to look through with a fresh pair of eyes, in case he spotted anything that might yield any clues about what they were up to or where the aurors’ might look next; it was more responsibility that a new trainee would typically be given, but Kingsley said after everything Harry had gone through over his years at Hogwarts that his instinct would be better than older recruits who didn’t have as much experience in the field. Harry was determined not to let him down, and was ready to go through the reports with a fine-tooth comb.

Hunched over the files, he quickly lost track of time as he read and re-read every sentence. He summoned a pieced of parchment and a quill to make notes as he went (he had to admit, ball-point pens were one of the few things he missed from the muggle world ... he might make a trip into muggle London during his lunch hour at work and get a few one of these days), of anything that stood out and should probably be followed up on. He only realised he had been at it for over an hour when a painful stiffness crept into his joints. 

Setting down his quill, he moved backwards in his seat, stretching out his arms and neck as he did so, to try and make himself more comfortable. The movement jostled the pile of work next to him and, before he could stop it, dislodged the top few papers; they slipped off the couch, floating gently to the floor, but what caught Harry’s attention was the parcel revealed underneath. He hadn’t noticed it when he picked the things up from the office and didn’t remember seeing it before – a messenger had probably popped it straight into his inbox – but it didn’t look official. It was wrapped in pale blue paper, and the looped writing on the front was familiar. 

Curious, Harry picked it up and felt it. It wasn’t particularly thick, but there was something solid inside. A little warily (given his background, he treated everything with caution), he ripped open the edge. A tangled knot of metal and gemstones fell out into his lap. Instinctively he froze, one hand reaching out towards his wand in case it started emitting any dark effects – but when, after several minutes, nothing happened, Harry relaxed a little and lifted it up. It shook out into a kind of mobile-like hanging ornament, a bit like the chimes that had decorated Bill and Fleur’s cottage; metal links were woven in and out with embroidery that held in place several different gemstones that were varying shades of green and purple. It jangled a little as he moved it, but otherwise seemed perfectly harmless. He knew there was a spell to test something for dark magical properties, but damned if he could remember what it was. If only Hermione was around to ask. 

Instead he turned back to the envelope, to see if there was any kind of card or explanation. Reaching inside, he found a letter and, unfolding it, suddenly recognised Luna’s handwriting. Something that was still held tense inside of him relaxed. If it was from Luna he didn’t need to worry about any malicious intent and, unlike Hagrid, for instance, he didn’t think he needed to be overly concerned about Luna inadvertently sending him something dangerous. 

_Dear Harry_ , the letter read,

_I’m sending this to your office because Hermione seems to think that you’re spending more time there than at home these days, so I thought it might be easier to reach you there._

A twinge of guilt went through him. Although she didn’t say so, Hermione had probably told Luna that out of worry more than anything else. 

_I hope you don’t mind my knowing, but she had a letter from Ronald the other day that mentioned you weren’t sleeping very well. I don’t mean to be nosy, but not sleeping is a very unpleasant thing and can have serious consequences (like making you more vulnerable to gum disease, so I hope you’ve had a check-up recently. It can also make you more prone to wrackspurts, but you seem to have a lot of them anyway so as long as you’re not suffering any unusual disorientation I wouldn’t worry too much)._

Luna’s eccentricities took the sting out of what felt a little like scolding, and a smile tugged at his lips. 

_Anyway, I thought maybe this would help. It’s a charm – well, sort of. The stones are amethyst, malachite and chrysophase. Muggles believe that they can keep bad dreams away, and help you sleep. I don’t know if they really do, but I think sometimes just believing something can help makes it do so. Dad made me one of these when I trouble sleeping after Mum died, and I think it did help._

_It might be worth a try, at least. You can tell me if it works at the next Hogsmeade weekend._

_I hope you feel better soon._

_Your friend,  
Luna_

He looked again at the charm in his hand, a strange, bittersweet mix of emotions running through him. He felt a wave of warm affection for Luna that she had taken the trouble to send him the letter and the charm to try and help, without telling him what he should be doing about it or prying into why he was having such difficulties. But it was crested by a sadness that she didn’t even need to ask because she just knew, because she had gone through it too, when she was much younger than him. She understood, but it was an understanding Harry couldn’t help wishing no one else had to have.

(Of course, he knew Ron and Hermione and everyone else had experienced the war, too, but they didn’t seem to have let the memories bury themselves so deeply inside; their nightmares didn’t haunt them every moment, sleeping or waking). 

And yet still Luna believed. She believed in her father’s impossible creatures, she believed in muggle charms, she believed in _him_. Harry didn’t know how she did that. 

A memory abruptly surface, of himself stumbling in the Forbidden Forest with Ron and Hermione. Dementors had been closing in on them, their coldness seeping through Harry’s very body into veins and his heart and his mind, calling on every dark and terrible thought he had ever had. Then Luna had appeared, with Ernie and Seamus, and said, “We’re all still here. We’re still fighting.” It had been those words, her belief, that had gotten through to him and helped him cast a patronus.

He tightened his fingers around the charm. Maybe he could borrow a little of her belief again tonight, and dream dreams of a quieter, pleasanter nature.


	4. Snowflake

It was amazing how only a few months away could make Harry forget how bitterly cold Hogsmeade was towards the end of the year. The wind cut straight through him with the sharpness of a blade, and the iron grey sky overhead promised snow before long. Pulling his scarf up over his nose and mouth for extra warmth, Harry was glad he and Ron had arranged to meet Hermione at the Hog’s Head rather than wander about the village, and didn’t envy her the long walk from the castle to get here. 

Ron was clearly thinking much the same thing, shuffling around where he stood to keep warm while they waited for Hermione. Catching Harry’s eye, he grimaced and said in a grumbling voice, “One thing I definitely don’t miss about Hogwarts – _the cold_.”

Harry grinned, then remembered Ron wouldn’t be able to see beneath his scarf and nodded instead. “Yeah. London seems summery in comparison.”

“Where _is_ she? I think I might be developing frostbite.”

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,” a brisk voice said with amusement, and they turned to see Hermione making her way towards them. 

At the sight of his girlfriend all the grumpiness melted from Ron’s face, to be replaced by a wide smile. Harry tactfully averted his eyes while they greeted each other, waiting until he felt Hermione’s hand on his arm to turn back and give her a hug himself.

“It’s good to see you.” 

“You too,” Hermione smiled. “Shall we go inside? It really is freezing out here.”

“I thought I was being melodramatic?” Ron objected.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You were. It’s cold, but not cold enough to cause frostbite. Especially not in ten minutes.”

Ron made a _harumph_ -ing noise, but didn’t argue as he and Harry followed Hermione into the pub. Warmth rolled over them like a wave as soon as the door opened and they sighed in relief, pulling off their woolly hats and unwinding their scarves.

The first time they had visited Hermione, they had gone to _The Three Broomsticks_ as usual after visiting Honeydukes. They had not, however, anticipated the attention Harry would receive. Despite the fact that his face was probably more familiar at Hogwarts than anywhere – or perhaps because of it – they had almost immediately been surrounded by a swarm of students wanting to talk to Harry. They had all read his interview, it seemed, and wanted to know what it had been like fighting Voldemort or hunting Horcruxes or why hadn’t Harry signed on with a professional Quidditch team? Some wanted autographs or photos, but the end result was that Harry, Ron and Hermione couldn’t talk for more than five minutes without being interrupted.

The next time they had decided to try _The Hog’s Head_ , instead, since it wasn’t frequented by students as much. The odd few customers there did stare and whisper, but they didn’t come over or try to interrupted as the students had, so it was much more peaceful and quiet experience. Since then the pub had become their preferred meeting place and Aberforth Dumbledore, who had survived the final battle with only minor injuries, always had a table for them at the back, though he rarely acknowledged them with anything more than a nod and a grunt. Hagrid had joined them on the last weekend, but his duties as the Care of Magical Creature teacher, as well as keeping an eye on his brother, Grawp, who was still getting to grips with his new role as the castle groundskeeper, kept him busy so he wasn’t often able to get away.

Abertforth was polishing glasses when they came through the door today (although to be honest it was rather more like pushing dirt around them, given the grubby state of the rag he was using). Glancing up, he made a vague noise of greeting and jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate their table was free. They nodded at him and went to sit down, knowing Aberforth would be over shortly with their usual order of three butterbeers.

“So, how are the N.E.W.T.s going?” Harry asked as they shrugged off their coats.

“Good!” Hermione said brightly. “I got an O on the last essay I wrote for Professor Flitwick and I just finished off an Arithmancy essay this morning. And I have some Transfiguration homework to start tonight.”

Harry and Ron exchanged a look. Only Hermione would interpret having a never-ending stream of homework as things going well.

“Sounds exhausting,” Ron commented with a grin.

“That would be why they’re called Nastily _Exhausting_ Wizarding Tests,” Hermione replied, but in the same lighthearted tone. “It’s worth it though. I’m learning so much! You really should have come back with me.”

“I can’t believe there’s anything left for you to learn,” Ron laughed, ignoring her last comment. Every Hogsmeade weekend so far Hermione had told them she really thought they should have come back to school and finished their qualifications. They had had so many variations of this conversation over the summer when they had made their decision not to come back, Harry and Ron now just found it easier not to engage. Eventually she would accept it. “But I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

Hermione smiled up at him. “Well, it’s not the same with you – without either of you,” she glanced over at Harry. “Dean’s come back, and so has Parvati ... and obviously there’s Ginny and Luna, but, you know ...”

They nodded. Harry couldn’t imagine Hogwarts without Ron or Hermione and, not to put too fine a point on it, but he had generally had an easier time making friends than Hermione.

“How are things at the Ministry?” she quickly changed the subject.

They talked for some time, Harry and Ron telling her as much as they could about their latest cases, the leads they were following on the few Death Eaters that remained at large, and the few things they managed to do during their time off – spending time at the Burrow, a visit to Bill and Fleur at Shell Cottage, going to professional Quidditch matches with Neville. 

Hermione in turn regaled them with all the latest gossip from Hogwarts: how McGonagall was getting on as Headmistress, all about the new teachers (they were eager to see if the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher would last more than a year now that Voldemort was gone), how the inter-house Quidditch cup was going (Gryffindor were currently in second place, mostly thanks to Ginny having taken over as Captain), how much work being Head Girl was.

By the time the conversation wound down, they had each had about three butterbeers and the table in front of them was littered with empty bottles. 

Catching sight of Ron’s hand covering Hermione’s, his thumb gently brushing against the backs of her fingers, Harry felt very suddenly third-wheel-ish, and decided it was time for him to tactfully excuse himself.

“So, er, I said I’d meet up with Luna at some point,” he said at the next lull in the conversation. “So I think I’ll head off to try and find her before it gets too late.”

“Oh, okay,” Hermione’s expression couldn’t seem to decide whether to settle into gratitude for giving them some time alone, or guilt that he had to disappear for a while – despite the fact that he had done the same every other visit.

“I’ll come and find you later, to say goodbye before we,” he glanced at Ron, “head home.”

Ron nodded in silent thanks.

Pulling his coat, scarf and gloves back on, Harry shoved his hands back into his pockets and headed back out into the cold. The clouds looked like they had lowered in the time he had been inside, but the air was still clear as he made his way towards the village. 

It was mid-afternoon by this time, but there were still plenty of students around, crowding in the shops and on the paths, making the most of their weekend outing. Several turned towards him and nudged their neighbours, pointing him out, as he passed, but the stares and whispers weren’t as bad as the first time he had set foot in the village back in September.

He recognised a few of the faces wandering the wizarding village. As well as Dean and the Patil twins, Ernie Macmillan, Susan Bones and Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff had all returned for their N.E.W.Ts and waved as he walked by. There was a group of Ravenclaw boys who had been in his year that Harry recognised from the D.A., as well as some of the younger students that had taken part. But a lot of the faces were unfamiliar and looked fresh and unscarred by the war that only six months ago had raged where they were standing. Harry was both glad for them, and painfully envious.

He had quickly learned that visiting Hogsmeade was a completely experience now he was no longer a student. What had once been highly anticipated and fun was now bittersweet; it was only watching the students excitedly milling around the shops, comparing purchases from Zonkos and Honeydukes, chattering about their homework and the latest Quidditch match, that it really hit home for Harry that he was no longer one of them. He had left Hogwarts, moved on to the adult world, and carried new responsibilities. Even allowing for his unusual time at the school, he had never really appreciated how much of a bubble being at Hogwarts really was until he left it. 

Hogsmeade itself was relatively unchanged, although a fresh coat of paint here and a new roof that had been slightly dilapidated before were reminders of the rebuilding that had needed doing. Although it hadn’t been nearly levelled as Hogwarts had, the village had received a few knocks both when the Death Eaters had been searching for Harry after he, Ron and Hermione had clumsily triggered the alarms, and during the final battle when reinforcements came pouring through. But the signs of past damage were easy to miss, unless you were looking for them. And the shouts and laughter carrying through the air made all the difference to the atmosphere in general.

He couldn’t see the familiar tangle of blonde hair in any of the shops or _The Three Broomsticks_ – although he did see Ginny surrounded by a group of her friends and exchanged slightly awkward nods – so started up the path out the other side of the village, up towards the Shrieking Shack. It didn’t really surprise him that Luna would seek out somewhere less crowded; whether out of preference or just habit, he had always tended to find her in quieter places with fewer people around. 

The thought that she might still have difficulty making friends was strangely upsetting to Harry. But perhaps she was just trailing some new creature. 

In fact he found her leaning on the fence surrounding the Shrieking Shack, gazing dreamily up the hill towards the ramshackle-looking building. She had a Honeydukes bag in her hand and, as Harry approached, took a sugar mouse out and popped it in her mouth.

“Hello, Luna,” he greeted her, coming up to lean on the fence beside her.

“Hello, Harry,” she smiled, and held the bag out towards him. Thanking her, he took a sugar mouse for himself and they stood in companionable silence for a while as they ate.

After a few minutes, Luna spoke as though they were just picking back up half-way through a conversation. “Everyone always talks about how eerie this place it, but I've always found it rather melancholy.”

Harry nodded. "Yeah ... it is."

Seeing the Shrieking Shack always sent pangs of sorrow through Harry, thinking about Lupin and Sirius and everything that had happened in that building. And thinking about them inevitably turned his thoughts to others who were no longer here; but time had made the pain easier to bear, less able to hold him choking and paralysed in his grip. And having Luna, another person, standing beside him was a comfort.

Speaking of comfort ... “Thank you, for the charm you sent.”

“You’re welcome.” She turned to smile at him, and a stray curl fell out from underneath her blue knitted hat and into her eye. She brushed it lightly aside. “Did it work?”

“I think so. I’ve been sleeping better. I still get ... the dreams,” he didn’t mind talking to Luna about them, since she already knew, but it still felt like a weakness somehow to call them nightmares, “but not as often. And not as badly.”

Luna nodded solemnly. “Mum always told me if I met any monsters in my dreams to tell them they couldn’t hurt me because they weren’t real, and they’d go away. She never told me what to do if I met monsters that were real.”

The sad smile that touched her lips made her look suddenly much older. Harry wished he could wipe some of that sadness away for her.

“I think,” he said slowly, “you have to learn to live with them when you’re awake. Then it’s not so painful to meet them when you’re asleep.”

“I think so too.”

They fell silent for a moment, holding each other’s gaze in mutual understanding, then Harry coughed and changed the subject to something less complicated. “So how are things going?”

“Oh, alright. I do miss the D.A., but people seem friendlier since last year.”

That was good to hear. He hoped that meant that people had stopped hiding her things and playing tricks on her. “Glad to hear it. N.E.W.Ts going alright?"

“Yes, I think,” Luna nodded. “I’m on track to start training in magizoology next year, anyway.”

“Magizoology?”

“The study of magical creatures.”

As they spoke, some unworded signal seemed to pass between them and they moved away from the fence and starting ambling back down the path towards the village. 

“Oh, that sounds interesting,” Harry offered, although he wasn’t entirely sure what such a career path would entail. He wondered if it would be similar to Ron’s brother Charlie’s work with dragons in Romania, only involving a wider selection of creatures.

Luna nodded. “Did you know that only we’ve only discovered about a quarter of species on the planet? Think how many creatures must be out there that no-one’s ever seen or documented.”

That was something. Harry had never really thought about what might be out there that wizards didn’t know about. Although, in truth, he never really thought much about things outside his circle of experience, too busy focusing on his own life and work. Luna was the opposite in many ways, always looking at the world around her to the point that she sometimes seemed unaware of what was happening in front of her. Although she still picked up on small things, like sending Harry that charm. 

“So you want to ... travel? Find some of them?” he asked, curious now about Luna’s plans after Hogwarts. He knew Hermione wanted to effect some kind of change in the way the wizarding world operated in Britain, especially for creatures like the house elves. Ginny wanted to pursue Quidditch. He’d never asked Luna, though. 

“Maybe. I’d certainly like the chance to observe some creatures in their natural habitats.”

She told him more about her hopes for travelling and writing once she had left Hogwarts as they walked, but just before they reached the village proper she stopped abruptly and tilted her head upwards to look at the sky. 

Confused, Harry looked upwards himself. The iron-grey clouds were still hanging low but nothing had particularly changed, he thought ... until something cold and wet brushed against his cheek, like the faintest of kisses. 

“What ...?”

“Look.” Luna had turned to look her over shoulder now, and was pointing back up the way they had come. “It’s snowing.”

It had started behind them, soft white snowflakes drifting to the ground, but had caught up and was beginning to sprinkle over them like icing sugar. Smiling, Luna lifted her hands up to try and catch some of the snow on her fingertips. 

Harry could feel the snow settling on his head and shoulders, but Luna’s joy was infectious and he found himself grinning, too, as it swirled around him.

“I’ve always loved the snow,” Luna said. “It makes everything new, somehow.” 

New ... perhaps that was a good thing right now. Although they were all doing their best to get out from underneath it, a shadow was still hanging over them. Perhaps the world being made new by the snow could help; the glittering whiteness covering the remaining darkness like painting over a stain on the wall. 

“Although,” Luna added vaguely, “there do seem to be more nargles around when it snows. Perhaps they come inside to get out of the cold.”

Then again, perhaps it was best that some things stayed the same.

Harry grinned affectionately. “Yeah. Maybe they do.”


	5. Haze

“You look like you’ve splinched yourself. Have a drink, mate.”

Harry glanced over at Ron. He looked a little unsteady on his feet, his blue eyes bright in a way that suggested he’d had one too many drinks himself. Despite that his wide grin was touched with concern as he looked at his best friend, who was leaning against a wall, keeping out of the way of most of the gathering. 

“Nah.” Harry shook his head. “I’m not really in the mood.” 

“Why not? It’s a party - you’re supposed to be having _fun_.”

He gestured out behind him. The back garden of the Burrow had been transformed for the evening: a long white marquee spread out from the back of the house down the garden, held up by supporting poles. Chairs and tables had been set out underneath, on top of a dark red carpet. Floating candles like the ones that had decorated Hogwarts’ Great Hall filled the air with a gentle glow, while sprays of jasmine, snowdrops, crocuses and snapdragons dotted around provided some colour. Finally, twined around the poles and the rim of the marquee were what looked like muggle fairy lights but which Harry suspected might actually be fairies, as there were no wires and the tiny lights seemed to bob up and down in mid air. 

He found it hard to believe it was New Year’s Eve already. The weeks left between visiting Hermione in Hogsmeade and Christmas had seemed to disappear in a blur. When Harry and Ron weren’t dealing with mountains of paperwork, their time had been taken up with Auror training. They should have started this earlier, but in the immediate aftermath of the war every able-bodied Auror was needed in the field, and so Kingsley had delayed until they had some breathing space. Now Harry quietly suspected their training was doubly intense to make up for that.

In a way, it was like being back at Hogwarts. They spent time going over potions and spells that they might need in the field – offensive and defensive alike – and making sure they had all the skills they needed to hunt down and catch dark wizards and witches. This included being able to blend into the muggle world should the occasion call for it, and there Harry, having grown up believing he was a muggle, had a significant advantage over his fellow trainees, such as Neville and Ron. As well as these training sessions, they also began shadowing more experienced Aurors on cases with a low level of danger to get a feel for how they usually worked. They also had to pass examinations, to officially complete their training. According to Kingsley, that probably wouldn’t happen for about another eighteen-months – the average training was two years, although it had been suggested that Harry might get fast-tracked. Of course, even after they completed their training they would still be considered rookies, and would be partnered with older Aurors.

All in all, it was fairly exhausting. Short of time to go shopping, Harry ended up scribbling present ideas down on a piece of parchment and asked Kreacher to get them for him. He was more than grateful to get a few days off over the holidays between Christmas and New Year. He had vaguely thought that he might spend most of it sleeping, but instead he was dragged into a whirlwind of preparations and celebrations at The Burrow. 

As well as the tables, lights and flowers, he had spent a day decorating a seven-foot-tall Christmas tree with Ron. It probably shouldn’t have taken them as long as it did – in the time it took them Mrs Weasley baked a magnificent Christmas pudding, several platters of ginger and cinnamon biscuits and a Yule Log – but they kept getting distracted trying out George’s latest batch of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products. George had quietly admitted that he had had difficulty coming up with things without Fred’s help, then hurriedly starting winding tinsel around the staircase bannisters. 

No one said anything, but Harry got the distinct impression that the Weasleys all wanted to be kept as busy and distracted as possible to try and forget that this would be the first Christmas without Fred. 

Still, they couldn’t hide the fact that there was a slightly brittle, stoic edge to the celebrations, even when everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves as they were now. Music drifted over the low hum of chatter and quiet laughter, and the soft lighting picked out the sadness in the smiles on everyone’s faces. Bill and Fleur were dancing nearby, though without the unrestrained joy with which they had danced on their wedding day. Mrs Weasley was talking quietly with Kingsley Shacklebolt in a corner, new lines of grief and tiredness crinkling the corners of her eyes and mouth. Charlie, George and Angelina Johnson were having a discussion about the Quidditch League, and upcoming match between the Tutshill Tornadoes and Puddlemere United, but George seemed to be concentrating unusually hard on the topic. Hermione and Percy seemed to be having a spirited debated about reform within the Ministry. Not far away from them Mr Weasley was gleaning any scrap of information about muggles that he could from Hermione’s parents, but he lacked something of his usual enthusiasm.

“I’m just not really up for it, Ron,” Harry said, shrugging apologetically.

“This isn’t about Ginny, is it?” Ron glanced over his shoulder at his sister, who was dancing with Neville. The small smile on her face was real, Harry could tell, but it wasn’t her full, wide grin of nothing but happiness. “I know I said it wouldn’t be weird for you to stay here over the holiday with – with everything, but if it’s too much--”

“No! No.” Harry hastily assured him, “That’s ... all fine.”

And to his surprise, it was really was fine. At least, it was better than Harry had worried it might be when Ron had first invited him to stay for the holidays (invited probably wasn’t the right word; Ron had simply said one day as they were leaving work, “Oh, Mum says when you come for Christmas could you bring some of the platters from Grimmauld Place, she’s not sure we have enough,” and that was that). There was still some lingering tension between himself and Ginny; their feelings hadn’t just disappeared over the last year and both of them were still hurting. They were having to learn how to be friends again. 

Somehow, though, things were easier. They were able to talk and even laugh, and Harry no longer caught Ginny looking at him as though she were waiting for him to sweep her up and kiss her during their conversations. Nor did he catch himself looking at her and wondering if he had made the right decision. If anything, the signs that they were beginning to heal had lightened his spirit and made him sure he had made the right decision.

“Then what?” Harry didn’t reply but looked down at his feet, not really sure how to explain it. But some kind of understanding must have dawned in Ron’s drink-hazed mind as he suddenly said, “Is being around us really that hard?”

This was surprisingly intuitive for Ron, and Harry had to wonder if Hermione had mentioned something to him. The idea of his friends talking about him behind his back caused a brief flare of irritation, but it was tempered by guilt that he was making them worry and that they felt they couldn’t talk to him about it. He thought had outgrown that sort of surliness after his fifth year.

“Well ... yes,” he admitted quietly. “If you really want to know, it is. I don’t ... I don’t know how to be around everyone anymore.” 

He didn’t know how else he could explain it. It wasn’t just because he had locked himself away for so long, although that was certainly part of it – he was so used to just his own company that being around so many people, even just for a few days, was exhausting. But a few months ago he had been ready to die, had _expected_ to die. When he finally found out the truth about his connection with Voldemort he had felt manipulated and betrayed, like a puppet being jerked around on strings he had never seen. But underneath the hurt and the anger there had been a strange relief: things finally made sense. He finally understood what he had been heading towards his entire life, and soon it would all be over.

Now he had to try and figure out how to live again. He was glad to be alive, and he would make the same choice over again should he be given it, but that didn’t mean it was an easy transition. It was getting easier – working at the Ministry gave him a purpose, and he was trying to get out at the weekends and re-integrate into the world – but at times it was still just overwhelming. 

“Harry. Mate,” Ron sighed, as though unsure what to say, and awkwardly ubbed the back of his neck. “You weren’t the only who fought, you know. I mean, I know you went through more than the rest of us,” he added quickly, “a lot more, but ... just try to remember we’re here, able to celebrate, because of you.”

“Not all of us.” The bitter words came spilling out before Harry could stop them.

“I’m not likely to forget, am I?” Ron retorted angrily, sending guilt lancing through Harry. 

They held each other’s furious gazes for a moment, then, shoulders slumping, Harry dropped his gaze and sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. Look, go and dance with Hermione, enjoy the party. I’ll be fine.” 

At the mention of his girlfriend, an involuntary smile quirked Ron’s mouth and he glanced adoringly over his shoulder at Hermione. He made a faint motion as though to go towards then, then looked back at Harry, still obviously concerned. 

“If I promise to stop being such a miserable git, will you go?” Harry gave a smile that was only partially forced. 

“Do you?” 

“Do I what?”

“Promise to stop being such a miserable git.” 

Harry held up his hands in defeat. “I promise. Now go on.”

“Alright. And - look, I’m sorry too,” Ron said. “For pushing you. And, well. You know I don’t - I don’t blame you, right?” He asked the question as though he was pulling off a plaster, wanting to get it all over with quickly. 

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I know. Go.”

Ron didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he left Harry alone and made his way back over to Hermione’s side. As she looked up at him with a loving smile, Harry felt the briefest pang of envy. He was sure being on his own for now was the right thing for him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t miss that kind of closeness and happiness. That sense of normalcy he had so briefly had, and wanted to somehow find again.

Sighing, he looked around for something to distract him from his own thoughts and realised there was only one silvery-blond head in the room. Xenophilius Lovegood was talking to Andromeda Tonks, who was rocking the sleeping baby Teddy (sporting a shock of turquoise hair) in her arms, but Luna – who Harry had last seen with Ginny and Neville, seemingly teaching them how to ward off nargles – had disappeared.

Curious, Harry moved away from the wall and started looking for her. He reasoned that it was unlikely that she had wandered off into the expanse of fields that surrounded the Burrow as he thought Luna’s bright hair and sparkly purple dress robes would stand out even in the darkness, but beyond the delicate light cast by the bobbing fairies there was only an impenetrable wall of shadows. Instead he decided to check inside the house itself.

Even with the music and hum of conversation floating in from outside it was very strange to pad through the house without any of the Weasleys there. It made everything seem bigger, more spacious, although by most standards the house was still fairly small and a little cramped. There was no sign of Luna, so he headed through to the kitchen. That was empty too, the only movement coming from the dishes from the evening’s meal, which Mrs Weasley had set to washing themselves in the sink before they moved out into the back garden. 

Harry was about to start up the stairs, thinking perhaps Luna had gone to search out the family ghoul, when he caught a flash of silver through the kitchen window. Turning, his made his way out to the front garden and there she was – lying down on the ground, splayed out on her back, arms and legs stretched wide. For one, heart-stopping moment, Harry thought she might be hurt, but then she moved her head and he realised with a shuddering relief that she had been looking up at the sky.

“Hello, Harry,” she said in her dreamy voice. “Do you want to join me?”

He didn’t want to go back and stand around like a lemon at the party, so he shrugged and said, “Yeah, okay.”

He laid down so his head was next to hers, but he was facing the other way, his body stretching out away from hers. The ground was cold and hard against his back, and brought back memories of sleeping in forests and fields and even mountains, constantly alert for any danger.

“What are we doing?” he asked.

“Watching the stars.”

He looked up to where the stars were spread over the night sky like a handful of glitter cast over black satin. A few were hidden behind thin veils of hazy cloud, but most glowed brightly down on them. Harry wasn’t one for gazing awe-struck at the heavens but lying flat and staring up at it, so that, apart from the dark silhouettes of trees and few wisps of Luna’s silver-bright hair he could see out of the corner of his eyes, it was the only thing he could see, it really was a beautiful sight. 

“I was going to wish the gernumblies Happy New Year, but they don’t seem to be around,” Luna explained. “So I thought I’d look at the stars for a while.”

“Oh, okay.”

He wished he could remember what he’d learned in his Astronomy lessons at Hogwarts – he’d spent hours looking through telescopes and making charts after all – but all of that information seemed to have just disappeared. Not for Luna, though, who lifted an arm to point upwards.

“You see those stars that curve up, and make a kind of hook?” Harry squinted, trying to see what she was talking about. He thought he could, but he wasn’t entirely sure. Luna continued, “That’s the plough. And if you follow the two stars at the top,” she drew her finger across in a line, “That’s the north star.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember something about that from Astronomy...” he said, as vague memories flitted to the front of his mind. “It always stays in the same place, right?”

“Well, they’re all in fixed positions, really. It’s the earth that moves,” Luna replied, her airy tone making it seem like this was something that had only just occurred to her. “But it’s above the north pole so when the other stars look like they’re moving it stays still.”

“Right.” 

“I always thought was a nice thought, there always being a fixed point you can look to for guidance. Don’t you?”

Harry did think that was a nice idea, although not in regard to stars. He had never had any kind of fixed point as a child, unless you counted the Dursleys as a fixed point of misery. He had certainly had not had anything to guide him. For a while Sirius had acted as that, and it had amazed Harry that suddenly there was someone in his life to whom he could turn. But that had been for too brief a time before Sirius was killed. Dumbledore had provided guidance, but he wasn’t exactly a fixed point. Very, very briefly there had been Ginny.

Really the most constant thing in his life, possibly the only constant thing, had been his friendship with Ron and Hermione. They were his fixed points, who would always be there for him when he was completely lost. To whom he could always go to when he needed someone.

Turning to look at Luna, he wondered who acted like that for her. Her father, he supposed. It was easier to imagine Luna as an anchoring presence more than her needing one, somehow, but knowing how she craved the steady acceptance and caring of friendship, Harry wondered if she felt more lonely or adrift that she let show. 

“Yes, it is a nice thought,” he said finally.

Luna shifted her head to meet his eyes and smiled at the unspoken understanding. They held each other’s gazes in silence for a few moments, then she turned back to the sky above them.

“My mum and I used to make up our own constellations,” she said softly.

“How d’you mean?”

“Like there,” she pointed upwards at a spot to the left of the north star, “See the stars that make a kind of curve, with straight lines coming out of it?”

Harry squinted, and thought he could just about follow the direction of her finger as she drew an invisible picture over them. “Yes, I think so.”

“That could be a Chocolate Frog.”

“Or one of Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewts,” he said darkly, causing Luna to giggle.

He looked around, trying to form some kind of picture in the stars to join Luna’s game. She was sharing something precious with him, so it felt important he be able to find _something_. Finally he stabbed his finger at a patch of sky over one of the trees.

“They’re all kind of spiky – maybe a Bowtruckle?”

“Ooh, yes, I can see that!” Luna tried to nod, then seemed to realise she was lying down. “Mm, there! That kind of triangle? That’s the Sorting Hat.”

“I don’t know, it looks more like a tea-cosy to me.”

The words were spoken without must thought, but as soon as they left his lips they abruptly and unexpectedly made him think of Dobby, and the silly, quilted tea-cosy the elf used to wear as a hat. A stab of grief went through Harry, almost shattering his lifted spirits, but Luna was laughing again and the bright sound of her voice was like an anchor, keeping him from disappearing back into dark thoughts.

“Okay, a tea-cosy,” she conceded, laughter still in her voice. “What about those, they could be a dirigible plum.”

“Or a golden snitch.”

They carried on like that for a time, the constellations they saw becoming ever wilder and less accurate, but neither minded – at some point the game had changed from spotting pictures to seeing who could make the other one laugh more with their bizarre ideas. Soon Harry was laughing as much as Luna, his shoulders shaking against the ground, so that he could hardly get the words out any more. It felt good to laugh; his whole body felt lighter, easier, and the grief and regret he seemed to permanently carry around had been pushed to the very edges of his mind so he was almost unaware of them.

Finally, when their laughter had faded into smiles, Luna spoke again. “It’ll be midnight soon. We should probably get back to the party.”

“Yeah, probably,” Harry agreed, feeling more able to be in the company of others now.

With the faintest of sighs he clambered to his feet. His muscles ached a little, reminding him that lying flat on the hard, winter-frozen ground for nearly an hour wasn’t the best idea. After he brushed himself off, he turned and held out a hand to help Luna to her feet. She sprung up more easily that he had, the cinnamon sticks she was wearing as earrings swinging slightly. She didn’t seem remotely concerned about the leaves that had settled in her dress or, Harry suddenly noticed, in her hair.

Instead, she turned to look up at Harry, seemingly suddenly more serious that normal.

“Before we go in, I wanted to thank you – for my Christmas present.”

He had sent it over with Kreacher a few days before, so she would have it on the actual day. It had been a photo taken on one of the many ‘celebrations’ over the last several months – after the funerals, people had naturally wanted to focus on the positive, on their victory – of himself and Luna, stood with Ron, Hermione, Neville and Ginny. They all looked somewhat tired and strained in it, admittedly, but they were all smiling and waving, and it was the only photo of all six of them together. Harry had had it framed for Luna’s Christmas present. 

“It was a really lovely present, Harry. Thank you.” She smiled. It was a less dreamy smile than she usually wore, but somehow her expression was more open that way.

“It was no problem,” Harry said, a little awkwardly. He was glad to know Luna had liked it, but didn’t quite know how to deal with such heartfelt thanks. “I, um, I mean you’re welcome.” He paused, then added quietly, “I’m glad you’re my friend, Luna.”

That seemed to be enough for Luna, though.

“I’m glad you’re my friend, too.”

They smiled at each other, then Luna took a few steps back towards the house and held out a hand. “It’s bad luck to miss the first moments of the New Year.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Harry said, coming to join her, and together they made their way back to the party to celebrate the New Year with their friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long - I had a hard time getting this an idea for this prompt, and then I injured my hand and couldn't type for a while. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and that it's worth the wait!


	6. Flame

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. Luna, for the last time, the Minister for Magic does _not_ have a private army of heliopaths.” Hermione had set her butterbeer down on the table and now pressed her hands to her temples as though she was trying to ward off a headache. 

Personally, Harry thought she had showed admirable restraint, having listened to Luna’s conspiracy theories for at least fifteen minutes before snapping. As much as they had all learned to accept Luna’s eccentricities – even find them endearing, to an extent – Hermione’s insistence on needing proof before believing in something’s existence still often set the two girls at odds. It no longer happened every time they had a conversation, nor were they as hostile as they had been three years ago, but occasionally Hermione got a little too fed up and challenged some of Luna’s more bizarre beliefs.

Luna, for the most part, was supremely indifferent to this. Turning her wide grey eyes on the other girl, she said earnestly, “Yes, he does.”

“I think,” Hermione replied, voice tight with exasperation, “the general public would know if the Minister had a private army.”

“Well, it is a secret army. People not knowing about it is rather the point.”

“She’s got you there,” Ron said lightly, leaning back and taking a sip of his butterbeer – and promptly choked when Hermione turned to look coldly at him, her lips pressing into a thin line that reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall. “Er, I mean --”

Hermione waved a hand to cut him off, her eyebrows drawing together in irritation. “Oh, forget it. It doesn’t matter whether or not the public know, the fact is heliopaths aren’t real.”

Luna, who was using the Severing Charm to bore holes in the corks of their butterbeer bottles and thread them onto her necklace, gave a brief glance upward. “They are.”

“No, they’re _not_.” 

“Hermione, you are a very intelligent person. Possibly the most intelligent person I’ve met,” Luna said, with that air of dreamy serenity she always carried around with her. Very occasionally Hermione protested enough to make her lose that calmness and become slightly annoyed or defensive – as close to anger as Harry had ever seen Luna – but she didn’t seem to be heading in that direction today. “But you really should try to be a little more open-minded.”

Hermione blinked at her, taken aback. “ _Open-minded_? Luna, there is no proof! No evidence whatsoever. A few garbled accounts from less than reputable sources doesn’t mean something exists.”

“It doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, either.”

Taking a drink of butterbeer, Harry looked away from his friends to try and obscure his amusement. It was the last Hogsmeade weekend in April, and although it was a clear, bright day, it was chilly enough that a lot of students had come into _The Three Broomsticks_ for some warmth. Ginny, who had started off at their table, was now on the other side of the room with a group of her friends from Gryffindor and some Ravenclaw boys. Neville, who had come up to Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron, had also sat with them for a while, but had gone to catch up with Dean Thomas, Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott. 

A sharp cough drew his attention back to his table and he looked around to see Hermione staring pleadingly at him, clearly wanting some kind of intervention.

The trouble was, he didn’t think Luna was entirely wrong. Not that he believed in heliopaths or any kind of ministry-approved secret army (at least, not now Umbridge and her ilk were no longer working there), but Luna had a point about Hermione’s narrow-mindedness. Hermione was fiercely intelligent, incredibly brave and hardworking, and always had the best of intentions ... but she also had a very set view of the world, and she didn’t like when things, or people, didn’t conform to that world view. 

Not that Harry was about to say that, as he didn’t particularly fancy being hexed in the middle of _The Three Broomsticks_.

“Um. Well,” he stumbled for some kind of diplomatic answer. “I, er, don’t really know whether or not I believe in heliopaths --” Hermione frowned at him, and he could feel Luna’s measuring gaze shifting to rest on him, “-- but I know Kingsley Shacklebolt and I’m certain he doesn’t have any kind of private army.”

Luna considered this for a moment. “Mmm, I suppose he doesn’t seem the type ... perhaps he disbanded it.” 

Hermione looked like she might start tearing her hair out. Ron had also clearly noticed and put an arm around her shoulders. Making small, stroking movements along her arm to try and relax her, he leaned in and said in a low voice, “Hey, why don’t the two of us go for a walk?”

In an attempt at being tactful Harry looked down at where Luna was still adding corks to her necklace – there wasn’t much thread left by this point – but out of the corner of his eye he could still see Hermione resting her forehead against Ron’s, taking a deep breath and saying quietly, “Yeah, that would be nice.”

The couple got to their feet, and Harry tried to look as if he hadn’t noticed their private moment as he turned to them. Luna also glanced up, and Harry suspected she really hadn’t noticed.

“We’re going to go for a walk,” Ron said, slipping his hand down Hermione’s arm to lace his fingers with hers. “I’ll find you and Neville later to head home, okay?”

“Sure,” Harry nodded.

Once they had filed out into the village, Harry was left alone with Luna – a situation that was becoming more and more familiar in recent months. Not that he minded; he was more comfortable with Luna than he was with just about anyone these days. She never seemed to mind if he didn’t want to talk, but just sit in silence. It was one of things he enjoyed most about her company; they could talk for hours, laughing and exchanging stories, or they could sit in companionable quiet, being alone together. And when they did talk, she never pressured him to verbalise those things he didn’t want to speak about, but waited until he brought them up. 

Leaning forwards to rest his head on his arms, he watched her boring holes into the couple of remaining butterbeer corks. Her wandwork was light but perfectly precise, and her fingers nimble as she threaded the corks on to her necklace. Her fingernails, he noticed, were painted in various shades of blue, but clipped practically short. 

After several minutes he spoke, hesitancy and curiosity mingling in his voice, “You know ... Hermione is right. About there not being any proof.”

Luna’s eyes drifted up to meet his. “No empirical evidence, yes.” 

“But you still believe.” It was a statement, but there was a question underneath his words: _why?_ Or maybe it was _how_?

“Yes.” She paused, setting the necklace down on the table. There was something thoughtful about her silence though, as though she was looking for the right words with which to answer him, so Harry didn’t say anything but instead waited for her to speak when she was ready. When she did speak, her eyes stayed fixed on his like the entire world had shrunk down to just the two of them. “You grew up with muggles, didn’t you?”

Confused, he gave a nod – or as much of a nod as he could give with his head on his arms. “Yeah.”

“You said your aunt and uncle never told you that you were a wizard.”

“No. They prefer to pretend magic doesn’t exist. They wanted to ... what was it ... ‘stamp it out’ of me.”

Luna nodded solemnly. “And before you got your Hogwarts letter, when you thought you were a muggle, would you have believed someone if they told you magic was real?”

“I --” Harry started, and then immediately stopped. 

Would he have believed them? He certainly would have wanted to, but that was because his life with the Dursleys had been so miserable that he was desperate for any kind of escape. But he had to admit, he would have found it difficult. Even with all the strange things that had happened to him growing up, he had never once considered magic as an explanation. In all honesty he had taken a little convincing when Hagrid had shown up to tell him the truth, and that was after seeing a thousand letters emerging out of the Dursleys’ fireplace, Hagrid following them across the country to a deserted rock in the middle of the sea and starting a fire with his pink umbrella. Not to mention the Dursleys actually admitting they knew about magic and what Harry was – if he hadn’t believed after that nothing would have convinced him.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, a little nettled by the realisation, “Probably not.” 

Luna nodded. “Muggles have no proof that magic exists, so they don’t believe in it.”

“But it’s still real,” Harry murmured.

He had never thought of it that way before. He lived in a world he regularly performed feats of the impossible. Why should he find it so hard to even consider that creatures such as heliopaths existed? 

“Lots of magical creatures didn’t ‘exist’ until they were discovered,” Luna added, picking up the necklace again and tying it off. “Like thestrals.”

The thestrals ... Harry remembered the feeling of dread sweeping over him when he had been able to see them and no one else, the conviction settling in his stomach that he had starting losing his mind and the looks Ron and Hermione gave him that seemed to confirm it. Luna had then told him she could see them too; he hadn’t found it very reassuring then, but now he found her quiet belief more comforting than almost anything.

Looking up at Luna now, Harry felt like he suddenly understood her in a way he never had before. He wasn’t sure how much she really believed in the existence of heliopaths, nargles, wrackspurts or any of the other creatures she talked about. What she believed in was the possibility of them. 

Thinking about it, he supposed it was silly to assume that they knew everything about the world already. His whole world had been turned upside down when Hagrid turned up at the door, so who knew what else was out there that even wizards didn’t know about? 

Besides, watching Luna hum away to herself as she slipped her now slightly fuller butterbeer-cork necklace over her head, he had to admit he preferred the idea of a world that still had amazing and fantastic creatures hidden away in it. 

Well. Maybe not a marauding spirit of flame.

“You’ll have to go and find some proof yourself, then,” Harry said, sitting up again and grinning. “At least you will if you ever want to convince Hermione.”

Luna smiled. “Maybe I will.”

“I think the closest you’ll get to heliopaths today is the Pepper Imps in Honeydukes, though.”

“I’d rather a Sugar Quill – or some normal quills, actually.” She didn’t laugh out loud, but the skin around her eyes crinkled into a smile and there was a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. “A few of mine have broken, and I wanted to visit Scrivenshaft’s.” 

“We can head over now, if you want?”

She nodded, and gathering up their things they headed back outside into the village. Although it was well into spring, this far north the wind was still sharp and cold, and most everyone walking around had cloaks or jumpers on to them warm. It was easy to pick out the students from the village residents – not only because they were all so young, but because they all wore the dark black robes of Hogwarts. It was a little a picture from a muggle children’s book, and Harry had to wonder if the stories about witch and wizards schools he remembered from his primary school days hadn’t actually been based on the truth. 

There was no sign of Ron or Hermione, he noticed as he and Luna made their way towards the quill shop. Probably they had headed up in the direction of the Shrieking Shack to get some privacy. As they passed Zonko’s Harry saw a bright orange and purple poster in the window announcing the arrival of new Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products and felt a small smile tug at his lips; George had finally worked out the kinks in the products he and Fred had planned to develop before ... before last May.

Scrivenshaft’s was a small shop sat in between the Hogsmeade branch of Ollivander’s (in case any students had any mishaps with their wands) and the local bookshop, Tomes and Scroll; it was painted a rich, dark blue and had wide, bay windows filled with displays of more types of quill than Harry had ever known existed. There seemed to be quills made with the feathers of every bird in existence, as well as quills spelled to avoid blotting, quills that could write on any surface (‘Be it metal, glass, parchment, fabric or even brick!’), quills that seemed to made of fire, water, rainbows and leaves. There were also, Harry noticed, a few Quick-Quotes Quills; he wondered if they were all as inaccurate as Rita Skeeter’s had been or if that was simply a reflection of the owner. 

Entering the shop was even more bizarre. Quills covered the shelves, hung down from the ceiling and even floated in the air along with long rolls of parchment and bottles of ink so customers could try them before buying. A bell tinkled lightly over the door as they came in, alerting the proprietor; a spindly, wizened old witch who looked a little like a bowtruckle but had kind, twinkling eyes and seemed to know Luna very well.

“Ah, it’s the little Moon-Girl,” she said, ushering them in with a smile. “You run out of quills again?”

“Not quite,” Luna smiled, “But I do need a few more.”

“Look around, let me know what you want. Same to you, Potter-boy,” she added, looking brightly up at Harry.

Harry opened his mouth to say he wasn’t buying, he was just with Luna, but he couldn’t bring himself to say so when she was smiling so expectantly and instead ended up nodding. “Ah, okay, thanks.”

She nodded briskly and shuffled away into the back of the shop in a swirl of robes. Luna and Harry were left to wander around, and browse around as they liked. Luna drifted over to a shelf of brightly coloured patterned and decorated quills, that looked pretty but were otherwise ordinary. Harry, meanwhile, was curious about some of the more strange and exotic merchandise on offer and moved past the racks of peacock, flamingo, cockatoo and eagle feather quills to the shelf holding the magical items.

He was amused by a bright purple quill that corrected your spelling as you wrote, and considered it was a shame he hadn’t had one when he was trying to churn out essays at 2 o’clock in the morning and could barely see what he was writing. Or perhaps a small, snowy white quill that neatened your handwriting so it was always legible would have been more useful – thinking of some of the reports he had read at the office (sample instruction on how to properly complete and file a report) Harry couldn’t help thinking correct spelling wasn’t much use if you couldn’t make out the world to tell if it was correctly spelt or not. 

There were quills that, supposedly, translated your work into foreign languages (Harry was privately dubious about how accurate they would be, but he supposed a rough approximation wasn’t the worst outcome); quills that could calculate sums for you or tally up how much you had written; quills that could sketch a good copy of whatever you touched them to; quills that would advise on what you were writing: “Too many adverbs!” one was squeaking as an example. 

Beyond this shelf, was an entire case filled with various bottles of ink. Some Harry had seen before, or at least products very similar on sale in Diagon Alley – ink that changed colour as you wrote, ink that turned invisible until the right incantation was said, ink that glowed in the dark. Not to mention ink of every conceivable colour and shade under the sun, from plain jet black to shimmering gold and bright neon greens and pinks. 

“Found anything?” a dreamy voice asked by his shoulder. Harry jumped a little, not having realised Luna had come up behind him. 

“Not specifically. Just looking at all the choice,” he grinned. Luna’s quill collection made a lot more sense now that he saw the variety that was available. He was tempted to buy half of them just for the novelty, not because he thought he would ever use any of them. “You?”

She held up a long, soft-looking quill; at first glance it looked white, but looking closer Harry saw the feathers were pearly, almost transparent, and flecked with what looked like silver and gold dust. The effect was made the quill seem like it was fashioned out of beams of starlight. “I rather liked this one.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, it is rather. Now, let’s find you one.”

They spent the next hour trying out various combinations of quills and ink, scribbling first their names and then random sentences down in one of the parchment rolls enchanted to float about the room. Where Harry’s writing was small and slightly hurried, Luna’s was slow and sweeping, and seemed to be a written representation of the dreamy air that she always had. They laughed as Harry was told off by a quill for pressing too hard on the parchment – “Damage me, that will! Not to mention what it does to your handwriting. Look at that mess!” – and enjoyed the effect of a quill that was spelling to look as if it was entirely made of fire: the flames lapped harmlessly at Harry’s hand, and as he wrote travelled down the nib of the quill to the parchment, where they travelled along the letters until everything he had written was alight, when it slowly burned down to leave only the dark black ink. 

Finally, though, he settled on a quill whose feathers changed colour to match the sky outside, thus acting something like a clock to let the writer know what time of day it was. Harry, who, though sleeping better than he had been doing, was still regularly awake until late, thought it would be rather useful to have so he didn’t have to remember to keep checking a clock.

The old witch came back out as they moved towards the counter (Harry wondered if she had some way of keeping an eye on what was happening at the front of the shop from the back), and smiled a wide, gap-toothed grin at them. 

“Ah, yes, yes, very nice,” she nodded approvingly at Luna’s choice. Wrapping it up in waxed paper, she then reached below the counter and pulled out a box of plain quills, coloured dark blue, green and red. “Extra,” she said with a wink, “For my best customer.”

“Thank you very much,” Luna smiled, examining them happily.

The woman then held out a hand for Harry’s choice. He handed over the time-telling quill, and she broke into another grin, running her fingers up and down the feathers which were now a darkening bluish-grey to match the late afternoon clouds. “Yes, a good choice, I think. You will like this one.”

The witch’s enthusiasm for her quills reminded Harry oddly of Ollivander, and his passion for wands, so he decided simply to nod and smile. “Uh, good. Thanks.”

She was wrapping it up as she had Luna’s when the bell over the door chimed again, announcing the entrance of another customer. Harry couldn’t see who it was, but heard heels clacking against the wooden floor. Reaching out to pay for his purchase, he didn’t think to turn around until a familiar voice spoke behind him.

“Well, well, this is quit e the coincidence!”

That voice made him go rigid, and set anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, woodenly, he turned on the spot to look at the speaker. 

“Long time no see, Harry,” Rita Skeeter beamed at him. 

She hadn’t changed in the three years since he had seen last seen her. Her blonde hair was still fixed in stiff curls, framing her square-jawed face. Her lips were painted bright red, matching her nails. She was wearing green robes today, the same shade as her eyes which watched him beadily from behind her horn-rimmed glasses. 

“Not long enough,” Harry said tightly, but Rita didn’t seem to notice. 

“How are you? The world’s still wondering about you, you know. I don’t suppose I could get a few minutes ... find out what you’re up to these days ... still shutting yourself away? This antisocial behaviour, does it suggest psychosis? Would you say the traumatic events of your past have left you detached from reality and fundamentally unable to relate to other people?”

Would this woman never stop? Clenching his jaw so tightly he was amazed he could move it at all, he started to growl, “Rita --” but she had already moved on.

“And who’s this?” Her gaze had moved to Luna, and there was a gleam in her eyes like a hawk looking at its next prey that Harry really did not like. “Ah, yes, the Lovegood girl, isn’t it? You wrote that amateur interview for your father’s ridiculous magazine.”

“Luna’s article was honest and sincere,” Harry snapped, “Unlike the twisted half-truths and outright lies you write.”

For some reason that didn’t faze Rita (probably it wasn’t the first time someone had said it to her), but instead made her lips twist into a faintly amused smirk. Luna, who had been watching the two of them with interest, looked pleased at this praise of her writing. 

“It seemed to be quite popular with the readers,” she said musingly, as though she was simply mulling over a valid critique and offering an opposing argument. “They wrote Harry a lot of encouraging letters.”

“Oh my,” Rita said, “Is this young love? My sources tell me you have been seen together almost every Hogsmeade weekend this year. Did you bond over the article or did this start before then? Hogwarts perhaps? Ms Lovegood, is it true you were known as ‘Loony’ Lovegood at school? Was Harry your knight in shining armour, defending you against such cruelty? Reader adore a good love story. If you could just give me a few quotes ...”

She was reaching for her handbag, for the green Quick Quotes Quill that no doubt she still kept there. The simmering in Harry’s stomach burst into full, furious rage coursing through him like a white hot flash. His hands balled into fists at his side so that the coins he was holding cut into his palms, and for one fleeting moment he felt the desire to reach for his wand.

But then he felt Luna’s fingers on his wrist, and her cool touch seemed to calm the worst of the fury from him. Taking a breath, he met Rita’s eyes and said slowly and firmly,

“No. I will not give you any quotes. In fact, I’d much prefer it if you would just _beetle_ off, Rita.”

Her hand stopped in mid-air, and the smile vanished from her face.

“That deal --”

“Was made with Hermione. Not me.”

Anger flashed across Rita’s face, and with a sour expression she snapped her handbag shut.

“I see. Well then, I’ll just leave you to it.”

She turned for the door.

“Oh and Rita?” Harry didn’t want to leave anything to chance. “I don’t want to see a single word about Luna, or about me, in _any_ newspapers or magazines.”

If possible, Rita’s expression darkened further. Glaring openly at him, she said in an icy voice, “I understand.”

Harry waited until the door had swung fully shut behind her before letting out a breath of relief. He had thought his days dealing with that wretched woman were done with, but it didn’t seem like anything could stop her writing for long. And perhaps he had headed off at the pass today, but he suspected that she would find another way to work him into her writing another time. At some point in the future he was going to have to come to terms with Rita Skeeter and her poison quill. 

Turning back to Luna, he was glad – and not entirely surprised – to see that she seemed utterly unruffled by the episode. She was watching Rita’s retreating figure out of the window as if she was a rare magical specimen. What Harry didn’t expect was the wide smile on the wizened old witch’s face.

“You tell her,” she said, nodding in approving. “Don’t give her any quotes to twist for her spiteful pleasure, eh?”

“She does rather go for the sensational, doesn’t she?” Luna commented. 

Feeling a lot better, Harry paid for his quill. He was fairly certain the witch gave him back more change that he was due, but when he looked at her she just winked as she had at Luna. 

As they wandered out of the shop and back down into the village, Harry was ready to put the entire incident to the back of his mind. But Luna looked up at him as they walked and said,

“I hope it doesn’t bother you. What she said about us spending time together.”

Harry was momentarily taken aback, and heard Rita’s voice again in his head. _My sources tell me you have been seen together almost every Hogsmeade weekend this year_.

He wouldn’t have put it past Rita to make up the part about her sources just to gauge their reaction, but at the same time it was true. Harry and Ron had made sure to book every Hogsmeade weekend they could off work to visit Hermione, and every weekend that he had been up Harry had met up with Luna. Occasionally Neville had joined them and, in more recent weeks, Ginny, but mostly it was just the two of them exploring the village and talking. 

It had started as a way to give Ron and Hermione alone time, but he had found he looked forward to seeing Luna more and more. He had found it more easy to be around her than almost anyone after what had happened, her presence lifting his spirits and helping him to keep going. She was one of his closest friends. But he supposed it was inevitable that that would lead to the question of if they were only friends or if they were something more. People had done it often enough with him and Hermione, after all – even Ron. 

His mind turned briefly to Ginny. He wondered if she had thought that. Had that been what had finally helped her start moving on, the thought that Harry had feelings for someone else? It hadn’t been his intention to give that impression, but if it had helped her he couldn’t say he was sorry for it.

As for other people thinking it ... he thought about it seriously for a moment. Yes, it frustrated him to read rumours that weren’t true, and he wouldn’t want something like that to impact his friendship with Luna. But if he was honest, what had really annoyed him wasn’t Rita attempting to spin a love story, but Rita making Luna into some kind of damsel in distress – the implication that Harry had rescued the poor, strange, friendless girl. 

“No,” he answered Luna, shrugging. “It doesn’t bother me. Not really. People can think what they want.”

A slow smile spread over Luna’s face. “That’s very wise, Harry. I don’t know that you would have said that a few months ago.”

He chuckled. “Maybe not. But I’m in a better place now than I was then. I’m not going to let it stop me living.”

He wondered as well if it wasn’t at least a little bit down to Luna’s influence. She never seemed to mind what people thought – or least not enough to let it dictate how she acted. Harry had been fascinated by the quality when they first met. Then, with most of the school believing him to be a liar and attention seeker, he had been so envious of Luna’s ability to be herself without reference to anyone else. 

“I’m glad. I like spending time with you, too, by the way.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Harry grinned. “It would have make these weekends a lot more awkward if you were just being polite this whole time.”

Luna giggled, and they started talking about their plans for the next time Harry was in Hogsmeade – although the Easter holidays would come before then. 

As they did so, Harry felt a brief, bizarre gratitude for having run into Rita Skeeter. He still couldn’t stand the woman, but meeting her had helped him see how far he had come just in the last year. He made him feel lighter, more hopeful, like he was ready to take on whatever the future brought him text, whether that was another of Rita’s exposés or the much more pleasant alternative of browsing Honeydukes with Luna while he waited for his best friends.


	7. Formal

“Did you two get your invitations, then?” Neville asked, collapsing into an empty chair at their usual lunch table and holding out a rectangular white card with gold lettering.

Ron glanced up from his sandwich and pulled a face. “You mean, ‘ _The Minister for Magic would like to invite you and a guest to a formal celebration to remember those who fought and died in the Second Wizarding War_ ’? Yeah, I got one. ”

The invitations had been delivered to everyone’s desks that morning, prompting mixed reactions from the Ministry staff – or at least it had in the Aurors’ Office. Most of them agreed that it was good the Ministry was doing something to honour the upcoming anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and remember the dead, but few of them were thrilled at the prospect of a big, formal event. 

Harry, unlike his colleagues, had known the invitations in advance, as Kingsley Shacklebolt had told him in person, and had in turn told Neville and Ron that they would be receiving them. Kingsley had wanted to do something much smaller himself, a memorial service or some such, but had been pressured into making it bigger by his advisors and the Heads of Department, who were conscious of the need to undo the damage Voldemort and his followers had done to the Ministry’s reputation. 

“Obviously Harry’s got his,” Ron was continuing, “Boy Who Lived and all that.”

“Yeah, er, actually...” Harry gave an awkward cough and put down the report he was reading over. “Kingsley’s asked me to be the Guest of Honour. I think they want me to, er, give a speech or something.”

Ron looked torn between sympathy and amusement, but Neville seemed impressed.

“You’re going to do it, right, Harry?”

Harry mumbled something incoherent, shrugging. He didn’t want to do it. He was no speechmaker; the most experience he had with public speaking was talking to the DA, and that was mostly giving them instructions. He actively went of his way to avoid being the centre of attention, so deliberately getting up in the spotlight held absolutely no appeal. But Kingsley knew all that and had asked him to do it anyway. 

“The thing is, Harry,” he had said, in his deep, gravelly voice, “Even though you didn’t ask for it, you’re a symbol to them. And it would mean a lot to hear from you. So please, at least consider it.”

And when it was put like that, how could he not do it? It would feel churlish, spiteful, like he was throwing all the help he had been given back in people’s faces to refuse.

He had resigned himself to a life where he would always be well known. He supposed that mean also accepting that people would ask him to appear at functions and want to hear him speak. He didn’t have to like it, or even feel comfortable with it, but he did have to accept it.

“....yeah,” he said finally, voice heavy. “Yeah, I s’pose I will.”

“When you give your speech, try to sound less like you’d rather be back in one of Snape’s potions lessons, will you?” Ron suggested before taking another bite of his sandwich.

Harry rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched upwards with amusement.

Grinning, Neville reached down to pull his own lunch from his bag and started unwrapping it from its cling-film protection. “I’m guessing you and Hermione won’t be using your plus-ones, Ron?”

“Nah. Well,” Ron paused, head tilted thoughtfully to one side, “Ginny might want to come if she’s not been invited herself. Or will Hogwarts students just be invited anyway, since it’s going to be at the castle?”

“Don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “Term won’t be over, so probably. Or maybe just the older students, like the Yule Ball.”

Truth be told, he hadn’t given it much thought. He had been too busy worrying about the idea of giving a speech to think about what the actual event might be like or who would be there. He wasn’t sure if having Hogwarts students – people he knew and had shared classes with – would make it harder or easier. But he didn’t see how they could be excluded. 

Ron didn’t appear inclined to consider it any further, turning back to the subject of plus-ones. “What about you Neville? Going to bring anyone?” 

“Oh. Um. I...” Neville blushed furiously, “I d-don’t know. Probably just my gran...”

“Really? There must be someone you’d like to take.”

“N-No, not really...”

From previous conversations, Harry knew that Ron was convinced Neville was interested in an intern in the Department of Magical Transportation, but didn’t have the confidence to do anything about it. Privately Harry thought that while there was every chance Neville might have a bit of crush, Ron trying to subtly push him into admitting it wasn’t likely to have any sort of positive effect.

Unfortunately for him, Neville was clearly determined to stop Ron in his tracks. “What about you, Harry? Are you going to bring anyone?”

And that, of course, was far more interesting to Ron, whose blue eyes snapped curiously to Harry.

“Oh. I, er, hadn’t thought about it,” Harry admitted.

“So think about it now,” Ron shrugged.

Although he rolled his eyes in protest, Harry obediently considered the idea of who he could ask to accompany him to the memorial celebration; but the only person that came to mind was one with long blonde hair and a penchant for believing in strange and fantastical creatures.

He certainly wouldn’t mind going with Luna – assuming she was amenable – but he was conscious that it might lead to certain assumptions being made. 

“Maybe I’ll just go alone.”

That earned him a sceptical eyebrow-raise. “Right. You couldn’t even go to Slughorn’s party alone. You’re going to go to this by yourself?”

“Well, who could I ask?” he said. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my options are rather limited.”

Ron snorted, nearly spraying a mouthful of his lunch over the table as he did so. Once he had himself under control he looked incredulously at Harry. “You’re kidding, right? You’re Harry freaking Potter. Girls will be falling all over themselves to go with you.”

“So I should put out an all-purpose ad, should I? ‘ _Date wanted for formal event: only requirement is that applicant must be female_ ’?”

“Well, okay, no, but my point is you could ask anyone you wanted. Like whatshername, Caitlin, in Finance.” 

“ _Caitlin_?” Harry was fairly certain he had exchanged all of about ten words with Caitlin, a dark-haired girl who came up to their office once a month to deliver their payslips. 

Ron didn’t see that as an issue, apparently. “She makes eyes at you whenever she’s in the office.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“She does!”

Before Harry could formulate a reply, Neville surprised them both by cutting across them. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Harry’ll just ask Luna.”

A pregnant silence settled over the table in the wake of this pronouncement. Ron settled for looking sideways at Harry, waiting for him to reply, but with an edge of expectancy; although he had accepted Harry’s assurances that nothing romantic was going on between him and Luna, he hadn’t stopped making the occasional comment about how much time they spent together in the following months. His remarks were less pointed now that Ginny appeared to have moved on and was happier, but he still seemed to be waiting for Harry to admit there was something more to his and Luna’s friendship. 

Harry himself was wondering if he was more transparent than even he realised, or if Neville was just being more astute that he had ever given him credit for. Though to be fair, it probably wasn’t much of a jump for anyone to assume he’d be going to Luna. As Rita Skeeter had taken the time to point out, they had been spending a lot of time together. And what was the point in asking someone like Caitlin, who was practically a stranger, when he could go with Luna, someone he knew well and whose company he actually enjoyed?

“Well, won’t you?” Neville asked, as the silence stretched out into awkwardness. 

“Probably.” Harry nodded. “If she’s willing.”

“I s’pose she’ll brighten things up, at least,” Ron said thoughtfully, a shadow passing briefly over his face. Although they hadn’t spoken about it, he knew Ron was dreading the upcoming Memorial Day. More specifically, the first anniversary of Fred’s death. 

Truthfully Harry was dreading it himself; too many bad memories lurked just beneath the surface. The nightmares had finally started subsiding enough to let him get some sleep, and he was afraid that reliving everything that happened that day would bring them back in full force. 

So spending the day with Luna, who somehow always managed to find a light in the darkness, definitely held appeal.

“Yeah, she will.”

“And,” Ron added, “The two of you walking in together will have the added bonus of cheesing off Rita after you told her not to write anything about you.”

That made Harry grin. He didn’t think Rita would be invited, but no doubt she’d be there one way or another. “That’s true.”

“You realise other people will start gossiping, though?”

He did realise that, and it did still frustrate him. But when the choice was either to ride it out or to stop spending time with his friend in order to keep people quiet, it wasn’t much of a choice. (Besides, if he did stop spending time with Luna, people would probably start saying they had fallen out over something, so it wasn’t like it would help in any way). 

“People can think what they want. We know the truth and so do our friends.”

“That’s a very ... _mature_ attitude,” Ron said, somehow managing to make that sound highly suspicious.

“Well, I’ve had a year to sort myself out,” Harry pointed out. “Get a new perspective.”

He could feel the others’ eyes on him and did his best to ignore them, focusing on his lunch which he had barely started eating. He still wasn’t sure this newfound confidence or determination, or whatever it was, would stand up to much scrutiny from his friends. If he allowed himself to think too much about what reporters might be there and what they might start saying, that invasion of his privacy and personal life, he might lose his nerve.

No, he told himself firmly. He was going to go through with this. The press wouldn’t write anything worse than had been written about him in his fourth and fifth years, and he had managed to face that with his head held high (well, some of the time; he had least hadn’t hidden away). He would go to this event for Kingsley, and for his friends, and for everyone who had supported him the previous year. And most especially for those who they would be remembering. 

But he couldn’t deny that if he knew Luna would be there, it would make facing it all a lot easier. 

***

He wrote to her that afternoon when he got back to his desk. He spent a long time just staring at the blank piece of parchment, not entirely sure where to start. Did he just come out and ask? The last time he had asked her to a party he had sort of blurted it at her in the middle of a corridor, without thinking it through. But that had just been to Slughorn’s Christmas part, where the worst they would face were some judgemental classmates. He would be asking her for a much bigger favour this time. 

Sometimes he wondered if he took Luna’s friendship too much for granted. He had leaned on her lot over the last year as he slowly started recovering from everything he had been through, and he often questioned what he gave her in return. She never complained, but then it wasn’t in her nature to do so. Still, she had never been less than honest with him either; Harry supposed he had to rely on her to tell him if he was becoming a burden to her rather than a friend.

 _Dear Luna,_ he finally started scratching out. He paused every few words to read over what he had written and think through what he would say next. Quite possibly he was taking this far too seriously, but when had he ever done otherwise?

_I hope all’s well with you. It was good to see you over the Easter holidays – have you finished all the chocolate you got yet? I nearly have, but that’s only because Ron’s been ‘good’ enough to help me out. I’m glad your dad’s dirigible plum plant has started flowering again. Did you two manage to finalise your plans for Europe this summer?_

_I don’t know if it will have been announced at Hogwarts yet, but the Ministry’s going to be holding a formal celebration there for the first Memorial Day in May. We just all got our invitations here today. I’m guessing since it’ll still be term time that the students will be invited as well – it would be odd to leave them out, anyway – so I suspect if they haven’t said anything yet they will in the next few days._

_Kingsley’s asked me to be the guest of honour at this thing and give a speech. I’ve agreed to do it, although I’m a little nervous about the whole thing. I’m not very good at speeches. But I feel like I owe it to people to do it, so I’ll do my best. At least I know there’ll be some friendly faces there if I make a complete fool of myself._

_That’s really why I’m writing. I was wondering if maybe you would want to go with me, as friends? I know it’s asking a lot, but I thought it might make it a bit more enjoyable. If you don’t want to or have an actual date or something I completely understand._

He wrote the last line in an attempt to give her an easy way out if she wanted to say no, and then wondered why the idea of Luna going with someone else made him uncomfortable. It must be because he had just gotten so used to it being the two of them. 

_Let me know what you think, anyway._

_Your friend,  
Harry_

He read it over a few times, decided it was as minimally awkward as it was ever going to be, and went to borrow a Ministry owl to send it to her. Strictly speaking they weren’t supposed to use the office owls for personal letters, but everyone did and no one ever bothered about it. As long as they didn’t send out dozens of personal letters a day, the higher ups didn’t mind the occasional note being sent.

It would probably get to Luna tomorrow, with the breakfast post. For a brief moment, Harry disappeared into the memory of hundreds of owls swooping into the Great Hall by the early morning light, dropping letters and parcels onto the tables. Hedwig had always been easy to spot amongst the throngs of brown, barn and tawny owls because of her rare, snowy plumage. Not that Harry ever got letters very often. 

At the very least, he hoped getting his letter might brighten Luna’s day a little bit.

***

Her reply came a couple of days later; presumably it came with the same owl, but Harry couldn’t be sure as the post was all collected at the Ministry’s owlery and then distributed throughout the offices by magic to save the birds from flying about throughout the building. Harry was flicking through the reports in his in-tray when a pale blue envelope shimmered into being above them, addressed in familiar looping handwriting to Mr Harry Potter, Auror’s Office, Ministry of Magic. 

Setting his reports to one side, he tore the envelope open and unfolded Luna’s letter.

_Dear Harry,_

_Thank you very much for your letter. It was good to see you too, and thanks again for the Easter egg. I haven’t finished it all yet, but I’m trying to see how long I can make it last for while still having a little each day. I think I might get a good way through the summer at this rate, but we’ll see how it goes! The dirigible plums are looking good. I’m hoping I’ll be able to pick a pair to make a fresh set of earrings when they’re ripe._

_Daddy and I haven’t quite settled our plans, yet. We went to Sweden last time, so we’re thinking of trying further north in Finland. I’m trying to learn some Finnish in preparation, and it’s a very interesting language. Do you have any plans for the summer yet? You must take a holiday at some point._

Luna had become determined that Harry should take a holiday over the Easter holidays, after he had mentioned that he didn’t think he had ever taken a proper holiday before – going somewhere just to relax and take in the sights. It certainly would be a novel experience to take a week off in the summer and go somewhere without any responsibilities or worries to carry with him.

_It’s funny you know, we were told about the celebration the evening after your letter arrived. Should I say celebration? That’s what they called it, but it’s really more of a memorial, isn’t it? Anyway, the students are all invited to take part. Professor McGonagall said that since it’s a solemn occasion to mark something so important, they thought it was only right that we should all be there._

_I’m sure you’ll manage to give a wonderful speech, though. You’re a lot better at it than you give yourself credit for, you know. People came to the DA because of you, not just because they were learning more there than in Umbridge’s classes. I think it’s a very good thing that you’ve agreed to do it. But I’ve heard a good cure for stage fright is to pretend you’re talking to a crowd of Blibbering Humdingers, if that helps._

_I would love to go with you as friends. I don’t think it’s asking a lot at all. I always enjoy spending time with you._

_I’ll look forward to seeing you in May._

_Your friend,  
Luna_

He went back to work with a smile on his face.


	8. Companion

Harry arranged to meet Luna in the castle entrance hall the night of the celebration. Since most of the Ministry were attending, to avoid hundreds of witches and wizards materialising in different fireplaces all over Hogwarts, a special Floo access point had been sent up at Hogsmeade and carriages were running between the village and the castle all night. 

Trundling up the pathway brought back memories of the start of every school year, from the first, nerve-filled boat ride to the last time, when Tonks had rescued him from Malfoy’s body-binding curse. It had never occurred to him then that he might not be return for his seventh year. But then a lot of other things had happened that had never once crossed his mind, which all made not appreciating his last first walk up to Hogwarts seem like a very small thing.

He took a moment now to appreciate the sight of the castle rising up against the horizon, a dark shadow against the evening sky lit up from the inside by a million flickering lights. It was heartening to see it whole, instead of the smoking ruins it had been this time last year. Looking at it one would hardly believe that it had been site of a battle that decided the fate of the entire wizarding world, and probably the muggle one as well.

Harry almost laughed at himself for that thought. It seemed Ron wasn’t the only one with a talent for being melodramatic.

Not that Ron was being melodramatic tonight. If anything he was uncharacteristically quiet, and when Harry looked over he saw his mouth was drawn tight and there was a deep furrow in his brow. When he noticed Harry’s gaze he blinked and rearranged his expression into a forced smile, but he couldn’t hide the pain shining in his eyes. 

Even if Harry hadn’t known Ron well enough to know he was faking it, he knew grief well enough to recognise it anyone’s face. When he himself thought about what had happened in this place a year ago today, everyone had been lost, he felt like there was a numb hole with faintly ragged edges taking up most of his insides. Ron’s grief over Fred would be just as raw and painful, especially so today.

But there was nothing Harry could say that would ease that pain for either of them, so he gave a small, understanding smile, hoping Ron knew he would be there if he needed anything. 

As the carriage rolled up the foot of the castle steps, he could see the great oak doors to the entrance hall were flung wide open and a warm, yellow glow was emanating from inside. The low murmur of voices washed over him, Ron and Neville as they made their way inside. Neville had, after much prodding and encouraging, worked up the nerve to ask Jenny, the pretty intern from the DMT, to be his date, and she now walked in by his side, with her arm looped arm through his.

Hermione, like Luna, was waiting for them in the entrance hall, just by the side of the sweeping staircase. She was in dress robes of dark red, with gold jewellery glinting at her ears and throat, and must have spent hours smoothing her hair into the elegant, braided knot it sat in. Her face lit up when she saw Ron, and as she came over to greet them Harry’s eyes moved to Luna, a little way behind her.

In robes of a deep blue, gauzy material, flecked with silver sparkles that flashed whenever they caught the light, Luna looked like she was dressed in a piece of the night sky. Hermione or Ginny must have helped with her hair, because it was sleeker than usual, hanging down her back in loose, artfully arranged curls. A single butterbeer cork hung on a long chain around her neck, and from each ear dangled a feather the same blue colour of her robes. It was all very pretty, and made her look older, like the young woman of nearly eighteen that she was.

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by Hermione placing a hand on his arm, and he turned to hug her hello. As he pulled back, however, Hermione kept hold of his arms and looked seriously up at him.

“Listen, I just thought I should tell you before you go in …” she took a breath, steeling herself, and Harry wondered what bad news he was about to get now. Was Rita Skeeter here? “… Ginny’s here with a date.”

_Oh._

He turned that thought over his mind, processing it, waiting for the feeling of being kicked in the gut to come or the growling he used to feel in his chest when Ginny was with Dean to flare up. But nothing happened. It was … strange, like he heard the words but they didn’t really connect. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Ron flicking guilty glances at him, and realised he, of course, had known but hadn’t wanted to tell Harry himself.

“… who is it?” he asked finally, surprised to hear how casual his voice was.

Hermione had pulled back from him a little, head angled just to one side as she eyed him, wary, obviously unsure how to gauge his reaction. “Do you remember Anthony Goldstein? He was in our year, in Ravenclaw, and in the DA. One of Michael Corner’s friends?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I remember. He and Terry Boot came back to finish their NEWTs, right?”

“That’s right. Well. It’s him. They’ve been spending time together recently and … well … she asked him to come with her. She said she thought tonight would be easier if there was someone with her and she likes him, so …”

Harry thought about that for a moment. He didn’t know Anthony very well at all, but he had always seemed like a decent bloke. Part of him felt like he should be upset at the news that Ginny was dating someone else, but in truth … it was more of a relief than anything. It was like a weight from his shoulders, knowing she really had moved on. Or was trying to, anyway. And for himself, there was no pain. No jealousy. No longing or regret. Just relief, and happiness for her. He had moved on too, it seemed.

He smiled. “Good. I’m happy for her. Really,” he added, at his friends’ slightly sceptical expressions. “I am. But I’m glad you told me. Now I won’t be caught off guard.”

Relief broke over both Ron and Hermione’s faces, and he wondered how long they had known and been trying to find a way to tell him. He grinned, filled with affection for his two best friends who were so worried that he might get hurt. 

Ron clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

Harry nodded, and then turned his attention to Luna, who was still waiting patiently by the stairs. No doubt she knew what they had been talking about, had probably deliberately given them space for the conversation. Did she think he still wasn’t over Ginny?

Coming to stand next to her, he smiled in greeting. “You look very nice.”

“Thank you,” Luna looked up at him with a return smile. “So do you.”

He had bought a new set of dress robes for the evening, in a blueish-grey colour, his old, bottle-green ones being a bit too short now and seeming, well, slightly too bright for what was really a sombre occasion. He had also, at Hermione’s insistence, had his hair trimmed up – not that anyone would be able to tell the difference, in his opinion. 

“Thanks.” He pulled at the sleeves a little bit, conscious of what awaited him in the Great Hall. He wished he could linger out here with Luna for a while longer, but he could see Hermione, Ron and Neville waiting for them. He took a breath and looked at Luna’s smiling face to calm himself. “You ready to face the hoard?” 

She nodded, and then surprised him by saying, “Actually, I’m looking forward to it. I’ve never been to a big event like this. The reason for it is terrible, of course,” she added, her expression dimming a little, “but I’m interested to see what it will be like.”

“Never?” Harry asked, “What about the Yule Ball?”

“I didn’t go. I was only in third year, remember? And no one older asked me. So I just went home for Christmas.”

“Oh …” Harry didn’t really know what to say to that. On the surface at least it didn’t seem Luna was bothered by it, but it seemed unfair that she had missed out.

She shrugged. “There didn’t seem much point in staying and leaving Dad on his own when I wasn’t going to be able to go.”

“I wish I’d known you then. I would have asked you.” The words tumbled out without much prior thought, and he almost winced as he heard them. It sounded like some platitude, said out of obligation to make her feel better but not really meant. Only he did mean it. 

It was amusing to look back on now, after everything else he had been through, but he remembered the stress and anxiety he had felt in the weeks leading up to the Yule Ball. Asking a girl to be his date had seemed a daunting, if not impossible task, especially after the one person he really wanted to ask turned out to be going with someone else. If he had been friends with Luna then he would have asked her without hesitation, just as he had asked her to Slughorn’s party in his sixth year and to the celebration tonight. 

The thought again crossed his mind that perhaps he was taking her companionship for granted. But she had said she enjoyed spending time with him, and he couldn’t think of anyone else he would rather take to such events. 

“Would you? That’s nice.” Luna’s voice brought him back to the present.

“Yeah. I probably would have enjoyed it a lot more if I had. It was kind of a miserable night, actually.”

“That’s unfortunate. Hopefully tonight will be more enjoyable.”

“Yes. Speaking of which …” He held out his arm for her to take. “We should head in.”

Luna nodded and took his proffered arm, resting her hand in the crook of his elbow. Together they made their way over to their friends and then as a group finally entered the Great Hall. 

The first thing that went through Harry’s mind was that he had never seen the Hall so full before. The whole school was there, students clumping together in groups, as were the staff. On top of that not inconsiderable number were the many Ministry witches and wizards who had been invited, all smartly dressed in their nicest dress robes. Seeing everyone crowded together made the Great Hall seem much smaller than it had during his school years, although at the same time Harry suspected the staff might have needed to cast a few undetectable extension charms to fit everyone in.

The Hall itself was set up in a similar style to the way it had been for the Yule Ball. The four long House tables had been removed, and many smaller, round tables covered with purple clothes were set up across the floor. The staff table on the raised dais was also gone but the lectern from where the headmaster or mistress addressed the students at feasts remained; that, Harry realised with a cold, gnawing anxiety in his stomach, was likely where he would be giving his own speech tonight.

The decorations were much sombre than the night from his fourth year. The walls were bare but for a single black ribbon wound all around the room just below the ceiling, a mark of respect for the dead. The floating candles that had always lit the Hall shone brightly, casting a warm glow across the room that mixed with the silvery light from the starry sky reflected in the ceiling, the. A subtle arrangement of flowers stood in each corner: lilacs, freesias, hyacinths and irises, all varying shades of purple, with a few white roses balancing them out. Next to one was a set a string quartet, playing a low, gently melody that washed reassuringly over them like a blanket on a warm night.

It was an understated but beautiful affair, and Harry could see Kingsley’s touch through everything. Tonight was both celebration and memorial, a time to bring them together as a community just beginning to heal. Emphasising that unity was especially important here, a place where the division between Houses was often much greater than it should be.

“Ron! Harry! Over here.”

Glancing over, he saw the Weasleys gathered at one side of the room. Molly was waving them over, obviously having been watching for them to come in. Though they were all dressed up, all the Weasleys looked pale, withdrawn, with shadowed eyes that held the same pain Harry had seen in Ron’s face. Even Fleur’s usual silvery radiance was dim, and she held her husband’s hand in both of hers. 

“There you are, dears.” Mrs Weasley pulled her son into her arms as soon as he was close enough and Ron, who would normally have protested and been uncomfortable with such a public display of affection, hugged her tightly. When they pulled back, Mrs Weasley reached up to tweak the collar of Ron’s dress robes. “You look lovely dear. And Hermione, it’s so nice to see you. How are your N.E.W.Ts going?”

She hugged and kissed Hermione, who assured her that her grades so far were good and she was enjoying the work, and then turned to Harry. 

“Harry. Don’t you look handsome?” 

“Hi, Mrs Weasley,” Harry smiled, bending down to hug her. He noticed she held on a little longer than normal, and his heart ached for what she must be feeling. “You look really nice.”

“Oh, thank you, dear.” She patted him fondly on the cheek before looking towards Luna. She didn’t hesitate to hug her as well, which judging from the way Luna’s eyes widened fractionally was a little unexpected. “It’s very nice to see you, Luna. I hope you’re well?”

Luna nodded, and as she answered in the affirmative Harry moved to shake Mr Weasley’s hand and greet Ron’s sibilings. They were all here; even Charlie had flown in from Romania, though Harry knew that was to more to be with his family on the anniversary of Fred’s death than anything else. Fleur kissed Harry on both cheeks, and Bill, Charlie and Percy all shook his hand. George nodded a greeting but remained sat the table, quiet and withdrawn, looking like he was holding himself together with the most frayed of threads. His family surrounded himself, a silent barrier of support. 

Unsure how to greet Ginny, Harry turned to face her hoping she would give some sign of whether she expected a hug, a kiss on the cheek, or just a nod. She hesitated a moment, sending anxiety spilling into Harry’s stomach, but then came forward and reached up to hug him, murmuring a quiet hello. She smelled the same as she had when they were going out, a flowery scent wafting from her hair, and she looked beautiful in pale turquoise dress robes that set off her dark red hair. But none of it set his heart beating fast the way it used to do, or made his stomach do flips. 

In a way it was sad, to think that those feelings were really gone.

When she stepped back, Harry recognised the boy standing beside her as Anthony Goldstein. He was tall but fairly broad-shouldered, with dark hair and eyes. He wore an easy smile, but it tensed a little as he met Harry’s gaze. Harry nodded at him, feeling incredibly awkward until he felt Luna come up beside him.

“Hello, Ginny. Anthony. It all looks very grand, doesn’t it?” she said, and her steady voice punctured the tension Harry felt growing like a balloon inside him so it all dissipated into nothingness. “I wonder how exactly the evening will go?”

Her question was answered in short order, when Kingsley stepped up to the podium to address the room. In his deep, gravelly voice he welcomed them all and thanked for them coming. The Hogwarts house elves had graciously prepared a feast for them, he explained, and they were all invited to eat, toast and celebrate the victory that they had won a year previously. He had decided to take a leaf out of Dumbledore’s book and save the speech making until after the meal (Harry’s heart gave a short, sharp thump against his ribs; it was all very well for Kingsley, he wasn’t actually the one who would making the speech). Then they would all make their way out into the grounds, where Kingsley would unveil the memorial statue built to honour all those who had lost their lives at the battle. 

Plates of food appeared on the tables as Kingsley stepped down from the podium, just as at any Hogwarts’ feast, and the crowds of guests and students began to disperse and sit down. Neville and his date joined Harry, Luna, Hermione, the Weasleys and Anthony Goldstein at a table near one of the arrangements of flowers. 

Although the low babble of conversation washed over them from the rest of the hall, their table was quiet for the first part of the meal. Harry talked to Hermione about his work and her studies – which Ron, Anthony and Ginny occasionally joined in with – while Luna, on Harry’s left, chatted with Neville, Jenny and Fleur. After a time Mr and Mrs Weasley began to talk as well, and Bill and Charlie slowly joined in themselves. George remained quiet, commenting only here and there, but even that made the table more cheerful and the conversation much easier. 

The food was even more excellent than Harry remembered, and he realised with a faint pang how much he had missed Hogwarts’ feasts. Starters of smoked salmon and prawns in marie-rose sauce, melon with proscuttio and avocado, stuffed portobello mushrooms, and buffalo mozzarella and tomato slices, were followed by a main course of honey-glazed roast ham, with parsnips, carrots, and potatoes dauphinoise. The house elves had outdone themselves, and Harry made a mental note to try and get down to the kitchens before the end of the night to thank them. A ripple of grief spread through him when he remembered Dobby would no longer be there, and he wondered if the other elves were taking care of Winky now he was gone.

When the pudding arrived – a choice of a rich, chocolate fudge gateaux, lemon meringue pie, and strawberry cheesecake – Harry suddenly realised how quickly time had passed and how close he was to giving his speech. The thought made his throat close up and his stomach revolt, and the uneaten half of gateaux on his plate was suddenly the most unappealing thing he had ever seen. 

He picked at it with his fork for a while, trying to quell the rising nausea, until he noticed Hermione looking sideways at him and realised he had completely tuned out of the conversation they were having and hadn’t replied to something she had said.

“… sorry, Hermione, what was that?”

Hermione gave him a look. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

She raised an eyebrow, not in the least taken in by his lie. Harry sent her a pleading look, hoping she would leave it alone, but it was too late; some of the others had picked up on Hermione’s comment and Mrs Weasley now leaned forwards across the table.

“Something wrong, Harry, dear? Are you worried about your speech?”

“No, no, Mrs Weasley. I’m fine, honestly.” 

He wanted to squirm uncomfortably in his chair. He was aware that Mrs Weasley was only asking out of concern for him and he loved her for caring, but he really didn’t want to discuss his impending stage fright in front of everyone. If he could, he would rather not discuss it at all. He just wanted the next half hour or so to be over with. 

But Mrs Weasley, perhaps seeing the opportunity for mothering him as a distraction from her grief, continued, “Have you lost your appetite? Is that why you’re not finishing dessert?”

“No, I, um …”

“Oh, that’s my fault.” Luna saved him from coming up with an excuse, turning a smile on Mrs Weasley. “I couldn’t decide between the gateaux and the cheesecake, so Harry said we could go halves. Didn’t you?”

“Um, yes. Yes, that’s right. Are you ready for the chocolate cake now?”

“If you’re done with it.”

Wondering what he would ever do without Luna, Harry lifted up his plate and transferred what was left of his cake on to hers. She smiled up at him and then nonchalantly took a bite. Harry sat back in his chair and glanced over at Mrs Weasley. That little display had apparently convinced her of his wellness, and she reached over to fondly pat his hand before turning back to the conversation she had been having with her husband and Charlie. 

As the voices of their friends rose again to cover the brief lull, Harry leaned over to murmur in a low voice next to Luna’s ear, “Thank you.”

She flicked a sideways glance at him and lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “I should probably be thanking you. I’m the one getting two desserts now, after all.”

Harry covered his mouth with one hand to hide a quiet laugh. “Then you’re welcome.”

A grin stole across her face, but as she took another bite of his chocolate cake her features relaxed into a thoughtful expression.

“I suppose,” she said, “You’ll be giving that speech soon?”

Nerves kicked around his stomach again, but a quick look around the table told him no one else had overheard. He didn’t mind talking to Luna about it – he had already told her he was nervous in his letter asking her to be his date after all – but he would rather not do it if everyone else was listening in.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, lowering his voice even further. “I will be.”

Luna was quiet for a few moments, slowly eating the cake, and Harry began to wonder if she was going to say anything else at all. Then she started speaking, though her eyes remained fixed on the plate in front of her. “I’ve never given a speech. But I would imagine it might be easier to focus on one person, like you’re talking just to them, instead of worrying about how many people are listening.”

“Not a room full of Blibbering Humdingers, then?” He smiled.

“You could do that instead, if it would help more.” Luna shrugged.

Some of the nerves in Harry’s stomach receded a little as he considered her advice. Focusing on one person, and blocking out the rest of the room wasn’t a bad idea. He could do that, couldn’t he? 

As if Kingsley could read his thoughts and took that as his cue, the dessert plates disappeared from the tables and a hush fell over the hall as the Minister for Magic once again got up to the podium. `

“I don’t know about you, but I thoroughly enjoyed that,” he said, a smile touching his lips, and there was a murmur of agreement and a few appreciative chuckles throughout the room. “Now that we’ve eaten, I’d like to invite you to raise your glasses in a toast: a year ago today, we almost lost our world to darkness. We lost too much as it is. But we held our ground, and we fought, and we won a victory here. We won a second chance. A second chance to rebuild our world, and make it better than it was. A second chance to make sure that what we suffered last year never happens again. So let us toast to that future, and all the possibilities it holds. To second chances, and to doing things right.”

Hundreds of voices raised together to echo, “To second chances.” 

Harry took a long sip of his drink, but barely tasted it. An icy lump seemed to have settled in his stomach, and he was fairly certain he hadn’t been nearly this terrified facing Voldemort a year ago. How the hell was he supposed to follow that? 

Some brushed against his hand and he looked down to see Luna had taken his fingers in hers and was squeezing them gently. She didn’t look directly at him, but glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes and lifted one side of her mouth in a barely perceptible smile. Comforted, Harry squeezed her fingers back. 

Once silence had settled back over the hall Kingsley spoke again.

“Now, we all know we have one person in particular to thank for that victory.” Every head in the room swivelled towards Harry. “And he has graciously agreed to give a few words. So it’s my pleasure to introduce to you – not that he needs an introduction, mind – Harry Potter.”

This was it. Harry’s stomach seemed to swoop down to his feet as he got up. The walk up to the podium seemed agonisingly long, each step taking a mile. He was vaguely aware of people clapping, but he couldn’t really hear it over the buzzing in his ears. 

When he got up behind the podium, the Great Hall was spread out below him. Tables full of faces stared expectantly up at him. He could see Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick and Hagrid, all smiling proudly up at him. Even Professor Trelawney was clapping, and there looked to be tears in her eyes. There were the Diggorys … and there were Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones, who had been in the Order … so many faces he recognised from school …

_I can’t do this._ Harry’s heart was beating wildly, a painful thumping against his chest. His breath felt shallow, his hands clammy, and one of his legs was twitching unbearably so he thought he might collapse if he didn’t lean on the podium. His fingers fumbled with the note cards he drew out of his dress robes. _I am not a public speaker._

His eyes moved to the table of mostly flaming red hair. Ron was nodding encouragingly, while Hermione was biting down hard on her lip and clutching her hands together anxiously. Mrs Weasley’s eyes were round, and he could see Ginny was holding Anthony Goldstein’s hand on top of the table.

Then he found Luna’s face, watching him with perfect calm. Her words came back to him, a gentle echo in his head: _focus on one person, like you’re just talking to them._ So he focused on Luna; on the blonde curls falling either side of her face, the grey eyes that saw so much, the tiny smile telling him she had complete faith in him. 

“I’m …” His mouth was dry, so he swallowed, licked his lips and tried again. “I’m not much of a speech maker. I’m afraid I’ll mostly be repeating what Kingsley’s just said, and not nearly as eloquently.”

There were a few quiet laughs, but Harry blocked them out. He was just talking to Luna. They were sat in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, eating one of Kreacher’s cakes, and Luna would listen and not judge him, and say one of those things she said that made the world make more sense somehow. 

“Kingsley said you have me to thank in particular but … I don’t think that’s true.” He flicked his gaze down at the cards and then back to Luna. “You know why I’m standing up here. Voldemort tried to kill me, and couldn’t. For a long time, I thought that meant it was my fight. My responsibility. I’ve since learned I was wrong. Voldemort started the war long before I was born, and if I had died he would have continued it long after. He killed my parents, and many people I cared about and looked up to. But I’m sure that everyone in this room has lost someone, a friend or a family member, fighting against him.

“We lost so many good people to this war. Too many. Some of their stories, like Sirius and Regulus Black, or Severus Snape, have remained unknown until now. Others we know by heart. But as the memorial here, and the one at the Ministry of Magic, will testify, not one of them will be forgotten. We will remember their names, and what they fought and died for, and in that way they’ll live on.”

His voice was starting to waver a little, and he took a moment to steady himself before continuing.

“But tonight, I don’t just want to honour the dead. I want to honour the living. Chance, or fate, or whatever it is put me in the position to deliver the final blow to Voldemort. But I would never have gotten to that point without help, and a lot of it. I would read out a list of all the people you should be thanking, but we would be here all night. Suffice it to say, there are so many people in this room who were the reason I was able to do what I did. People much smarter than I am, who taught me everything I know and got me out of trouble on more than one occasion; people braver than I am, who gave me courage and stuck by me right ‘til the end; people who loved and cared for me and made me believe in myself; people who gave me hope when I thought I had lost it. This wasn’t my fight. It was _our_ fight, for our world. 

“So instead of thanking me, I would like to thank you. Because if chance or fate or whatever hadn’t chosen me, it would have chosen someone else. And you would all have been there still, fighting alongside that person and giving them strength and hope and courage. I didn’t win this war by myself. You all did that. So thank you. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

He took a long breath as he finished and slowly let his focus move back from Luna to the room at large. As he did so he realised his leg had stopped twitching and his hands had stopped shaking; pretending he was just talking to Luna had worked, easing all of his nerves. 

He blinked, and was suddenly aware of hundreds of faces staring up at him. He didn’t think he had ever heard such complete silence throughout the Great Hall. 

_Oh, Merlin. Was it really that bad?_

He was about to try breaking the tension with a bad joke, when Professor McGongall got to her feet and started clapping again. She was quickly followed by Hagrid, and then Kingsley, and then the whole room were on their feet and applauding. Someone in the back let out a cheer. Harry’s face was burning red, and all he could do was nod his head awkwardly and step down from the podium.

Kingsley took his place, but the applause went on for a good few minutes before it died down enough for him to be heard. 

“I think I speak for us all when I say thank you for those touching words, Harry. Now.” He looked around the room, every inch a Minister for Magic. “If you would all accompany me into the grounds, we will unveil the memorial and have a minute’s silence out of respect for the dead.”

There was a rustling of cloth and a clacking of heels on the floor as everyone started making their way back outside. Harry stood off to one side, waiting for his friends to pass by so he could join them, but was surprised by Professor McGongall appearing in front of him. 

“That was a wonderful speech, Potter.” There was a sheen in her eyes, almost like she was close to tears, although her voice was as brisk as ever. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and continued quietly, “I’m very proud of you, you know.”

Emotion welled up inside him and he couldn’t stop his voice from breaking a little as he replied, “Thank you, Professor.” 

A rare, brief smile flashed across her face, as fleeting as lightning. “You keep in touch, now.”

“I will.”

As soon as she turned to leave she was replaced by Hagrid, who was crying too much for Harry to understand more than the gist of what he was saying and instead pulled him into a bone-breaking hug before heading for the door himself.

It quickly became obvious that everyone on Harry’s far side to the door wanted to stop and say something or shake his hand as they passed, and some even doubled back from the other side of the room to do so. He was more than a little overwhelmed by the flood of people, many of whom he had never met before in his life. He was also amazed and grateful beyond words that his speech had gone down so well.

Still, he was glad when he turned and was nearly knocked over by Hermione throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder.

“That was lovely, Harry,” she mumbled into his dress robes, the faint hitch in her voice telling him she had been crying. “Really lovely.” 

“Yeah, mate.” Ron nodded behind her, his eyes bright. “It was … it was nice.”

Harry gave an awkward grin, feeling a scratching beginning behind his own eyes. “Well, I mean. You know … you two … I would have been dead in first year without you two.”

Hermione sobbed into his robes and squeezed him hard for a moment before letting go and stepping back. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she gave a watery laugh and said, “So would I! You two did fight off a mountain troll for me.”

“Wouldn’t have had to if we hadn’t locked it in with you,” Harry pointed out.

“Yeah. And I wouldn’t have been able to knock it out if you hadn’t taught me how to say ‘wingardium leviosa’ properly,” Ron added, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to kiss her forehead. 

As they all laughed, the slightly hysterical laughing of the over-emotional and nostalgic at once, Mrs Weasley stepped forward from the side and placed a hand on Harry’s cheek. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her bottom lip was trembling as she looked at Harry.

“You’re a good boy, Harry,” she said quietly, “Such a good boy.”

Terribly afraid he might start crying himself any moment, Harry bent down to hug her and whispered into her ear, “Thank you so much, for everything.”

Mr Weasley hugged him as well, as did Ginny, and George, Bill and Charlie gripped his hand tightly. Fleur kissed him again and said something in French that Harry didn’t understand, but assumed was much along the same lines as everyone else had been saying. Anthony Goldstein shook his hand, this time with a much more genuine smile.

Finally, after a slightly teary handshake from Neville, everyone started heading towards the doorway at the tail end of the crowd, and Harry was able to fall in step with Luna. She smiled up at him but didn’t say anything; as always she seemed to know what he needed, whether it was to talk or peace and quiet. 

They walked in silence until they emerged outside. The cool night air was welcome on Harry’s overheated skin, and felt like gentle fingers tangling his hair. He could see several people ahead had got their wands out and lit the ends, little torches bobbing away in the darkness, illuminating the crowds of people walking against of them.

“Well. That went well, I think,” Harry said finally. 

“Very well,” Luna nodded. “Have you ever considered being a motivational speaker? I think you’d be good at it.”

Harry laughed. “No way. I’m never doing that again unless I absolutely have to.”

Luna shrugged. “Oh, well. Imagining Blibbering Humdingers didn’t completely help, then?”

He glanced down at her, wondering if she was teasing. She had to have been aware that his eyes had barely left her the entire time he was speaking. He had been sure she was. 

“I wasn’t imagining Blibbering Humdingers. I was talking to just one person.”

She glanced down at her feet, and he couldn’t be entirely sure in the darkness but he thought a faint blush was staining her cheeks. “Ah. I thought you might be. If it worked, then I’m glad.”  
Harry had stopped walking now, and caught her hand in his as she made to carry on. She turned to face him, her eyes lifting to meet his. Their hands hung joined in the air between them. 

“Yeah, it did. It feels like I’m always saying this to you … but thank you.” He was gazing down at her, all the teasing gone from his face. He needed her to know that he was serious, just how much her friendship meant to him. “I don’t think I could have gotten thought tonight, or even this year, without you. I just … want you to know that.” 

She was serious now, too, some of the dreaminess gone from her eyes. “You don’t need to keep saying that. You’re my friend, Harry. I’ll always be there if you need me.”

“I just feel like … like you’re always there for me, helping me, and I don’t do half as much for you.”

Her head tilted slightly to one side, a small crease appearing between her brows like she was confused. “You’re my friend,” she said again. “That’s more than enough.”

He had the urge to press a kiss to her fingertips, and was surprised at himself. Where had that come from?

Instead he smiled, filled with affection for the small but impossibly strong girl in front of him, and nodded.

“Come on. We’ll fall behind.” 

Lacing his fingers with hers, he started walking again and she fell back into step alongside him. But he didn’t let go of her hand, even with they caught up with the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in getting this up! Life got in the way, etc. etc.
> 
> As always this is unbeta'd, so please forgive any typos or mistakes. Please also forgive the slight cheesiness of Harry's speech. I planned it all out one night as I was falling asleep and of course promptly forgot it and had to reconstruct it. I did agonise over it a bit, but I may still come back and re-edit it if I ever remember my original plan. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!


	9. Move

Harry wondered what it said about a person when all his possessions – the ones he cared about at any rate – could all fit into three medium sized trunks.

His clothes, what precious few there were of them, fit entirely into one trunk. Even having left Hogwarts and its uniform behind, Harry was too used to wearing things until they were literally falling apart to remember to buy himself new things – much to Hermione and Mrs Weasley’s chagrin, both of whom kept nagging him to increase his wardrobe. In another trunk were his books and equipment from Hogwarts, which he had always had to fit into one trunk for school anyway. Finally, there were the few odds and ends he had gathered over the years, the only things he owned to which he really felt personally attached: birthday presents from Ron and Hermione, the photo album filled with pictures of his parents that Hagrid had made for him, the charm Luna had sent him, his father’s invisibility cloak, the Marauder’s Map and a few other small things.

Looking at the trunks, Harry thought he should feel sad, or perhaps embarrassed, that despite his fame and having inherited a fortune from his parents, when it came down to it, he really didn’t have that much. That his life could be condensed into a few boxes. But he found he didn’t mind. Perhaps because he had never had any, material possessions didn’t seem that important. There was nothing he truly needed that he didn’t already have. And he supposed he would acquire more things when he really put down roots and started building a life for himself.

Something he hoped to start today.

Besides, three trunks worked. It meant he didn’t need any more help that Ron and Hermione to move them, and somehow it seemed right that it was just the three of them, as it had been for every big moment in his life.

It might not have been facing down Voldemort, but moving to the first house he had ever bought certainly seemed like a big deal to him. It was the first thing he had ever really done for himself, a declaration of … moving on? Independence? A fresh start? … something, he wasn’t entirely sure what but something, and he couldn’t imagine doing it without the two most important people in his life by his side.

Besides which, Ron and Hermione had spent several weekends looking at houses up and down the country with him. They said they didn’t mind, that it was good experience for when they were ready to get their own house, but Harry suspected that after helping him choose where to live they would have been a bit miffed to miss out on him actually moving in. 

After much deliberation he had settled on a house in a small town in Hampshire, that had a mix of both wizarding and muggle families. For a while he had mulled over the idea of moving to Godric’s Hollow; in a way it would bring everything full circle and he had thought he might feel connected to his parents there. But after thinking it over, he had decided against it for the same reason he had decided to leave Grimmauld Place. There were too many memories, too many shadows dwelling over it – his own and other people’s. Despite what he might say, he would dwell in the past and it would be impossible to really start making a new life for himself there.

No, he had to start over new. Find something that was completely his own. Or at least something that he could make his own, which was very much what he was going to have to do with his new house given that –

“—there’s no furniture.” Ron set the trunk he was holding down on the floor and looked around in disbelief. “Harry, did you know there’s no furniture?”

“I’m not completely blind, you know,” Harry grinned, setting his own trunk down.

Ron rolled his eyes at the sarcasm, but Hermione was frowning in that way she had – that way that said she was worried and thought you were doing something wrong (i.e., not now she would have done it) and was about to launch into one of her diatribes – and fixed her brown eyes on him with concern.

“I think what Ron meant was, did you know the house would be completely empty when you moved in?”  
Harry shrugged. “It’s not completely empty. There’s wallpaper and a carpet and some counters in the kitchen –“

“Harry.”

“Yes, I knew I was going to have to buy furniture. There’s a bed,” he added quickly, seeing she had opened her mouth and was about to say something else, “And a fridge and an oven, and I think maybe a couple of bookcases? At least, there’s enough for a few days while I get settled in and find some furniture.”

Hermione pursed her lips, clearly not entirely happy, but to Harry’s relief she didn’t argue. 

He should have gone furniture shopping in advance, he knew that. But he had been so busy with work, the seemingly endless piles of forms waiting on his desk, that it had just slipped his mind. Besides, it wasn’t exactly like there was a wizarding version of DFS in Diagon Alley that he could just pop into. Mostly likely he should have brought some things from Grimmauld Place but he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to do so. 

And, as he had told Hermione, he had at least made sure he had the basic essentials to get through a few days. He had his bed, the sheets for which were in the trunk with his clothes, and he had a working kitchen. Kreacher was going to transfer what food they had from Grimmauld Place to here, so they weren’t going to starve (after Harry had sat the house elf down and explained why he was moving, Kreacher had made the choice to come with him, saying that he served Harry and not the house. His one stipulation was that when he died, his head was mounted along with the rest of his family back in Grimmauld Place which Harry did not pretend to understand but agreed to, since it would make Kreacher happy). 

Admittedly the one thing they didn’t have was anything to sit on, but given the hours Harry often kept at the office it wasn’t as if he would have much time for lounging about anyway. So it would do no harm to go without until he figured where he would buy furniture. Maybe he’d ask Mrs Weasley. She’d know.

“Mmmm.” Hermione looked like she was still considering scolding him, then sighed and gestured to the trunks. “What should we do with what’s in here, then?”

It didn’t take them long to sort out Harry’s few possessions. His clothes would have to stay in the trunk until he got a proper wardrobe, but his bed was made up and his books put on the bookcases – they were set in a room next to the kitchen that Harry suspected was intended as a dining room but had been used as a study, but Hermione insisted on moving them to the living room so there was something there other than the empty fireplace - and all that was left was to put out the few possession he had on to what surfaces there were. Photos of his parents and friends went on the mantelpiece of the fireplace and, with the help of a few non-permanent sticking charms, on the walls, while the pocket sneakoscope Ron had once given him was sat on one of the shelves. 

He propped his Firebolt in a corner along with his broomstick servicing kit since, while he had no furniture, he might as well be able to admire what he did have. It was odd to realise how little he really owned in the world, as he pulled them out one by one; there was the shard from Sirius’ mirror, the little flute Hagrid had whittled for him so long ago, his wizard chess set, then keepsakes from the Quidditch World Cup Final from five years ago. He dithered a little over the charm Luna had given him, but finally hung it on his bedpost; the nightmares still came occasionally, and when they did it somehow comforted him to roll over and see the strings of gemstones gleaming in the moonlight.

Even when the house looked marginally less bare with his possessions displayed, Hermione still wasn’t happy and insisted on apparating back to her house and bringing Harry several blankets and cushions to use until he bought furniture – which, she insisted, would be this weekend even if she had to drag him from shop to shop herself.

Finally she settled long enough for them to enjoy a celebratory drink and to laugh and talk for few hours. They reminisced over old times for a while – the good times at Hogwarts, not so much the battling Death Eaters and Voldemort and fighting for their lives part – and then talked about the future, their plans and hopes for the next few years. Harry smiled a little every time Ron and Hermione said “we” instead of “I” without even noticing, and wondered if he would ever find that with someone.   
After planning out the housewarming party Harry was (apparently) going to throw the next weekend, once his house was furnished Hermione clarified with a stern expression, they decided to get going and apparated away, leaving Harry alone in his new house. Well, alone apart from Kreacher but after letting him know the kitchen was well stocked the house-elf had disappeared somewhere and there was no sound to indicate where.

Harry wandered through the empty rooms for a while, feeling more at home than he had felt for a long time despite the lack of furniture. A glance out one of the windows showed the sun beginning to sink below the horizon, and Harry started thinking he should get himself something to eat when the doorbell rang. 

Curious, he headed back down the stairs. All his friends knew he was moving today, and he wasn’t surprised if any of them had turned up to make sure he was okay - although truthfully he would have half expected them to just apparate in. Maybe Hermione or Ron had told Mrs Weasley about how empty the house was and she was here to drag him back to the Burrow? Or perhaps it was a neighbour, muggle or wizard, come to introduce themselves and say hello. 

Or … a plant? Opening the door, Harry found himself faced with leaves and twigs and had to take a step back. He blinked, confused until the plant was lowered and Luna’s face popped up above it. Her grey eyes were bright and smiling, her hair braided back into a knot on the top of her head. Her wand was in its usual place behind her ear.

“Hello, Harry. I thought I’d bring you a housewarming present, if that’s okay?”

Harry felt a rush of warmth and smiled. “Of course that’s okay. Come on in. And thank you, it’s very thoughtful.”

He wondered if it would be a rude to ask what it was, but he didn’t need to as Luna launched into an explanation without prompting. “It’s a cutting from my dad’s dirigible plum bush. I always think a home feels more like a home with plants, don’t you? I thought you could put it in your garden … you do have a garden don’t you?” She stopped abruptly, as if this thought had only just occurred to her. Harry nodded, and she smiled. “I thought you would.”

She followed him through the hall into the living room and looked around curiously. Harry watched her eyes move over the walls and the fireplace, pausing briefly on the bookcases, and then to the cushions piled on the floor. He wondered what she thought, and hoped she approved.

“This is a nice room. Are you going for a minimalist design, then?”

He chuckled. “No, no. I just haven’t got round to buying furniture.”

“Ah, I see. Are you going to redecorate at all?”

“I don’t think so. I quite like it as it is,” Harry mused, looking around himself. The décor of the room had been one of the things that really attracted him. It was a wide, spacious room, with large French doors leading out into the garden and providing it with a lot of light. The walls were painted in a pleasant, duck-egg shade of blue with cream skirting and crown moulding, designed to contrast with the dark wooden flooring. It felt comfortable, and homey. Harry had been able to picture himself here, building a life and a space that was his own.

Luna smiled, nodding. “I like it, too.”

She was still holding the large plant in her arms, which Harry now noticed was planted in a large terracotta pot. He moved to take it from her.

“Here, let me. We can put it outside now, if you like.”

The garden was quite reasonably sized, with a lawn stretching back several feet and high fences on all sides. The previous owners had obviously been keen gardeners, as there were already several bushes, planets and trees spread out and filling the space with sprays of bright colours: yellows, pinks, blues, purples and reds all clustered together. There was patio space immediately outside the house, and a shed at the very bottom. It wasn’t quite as perfectly manicured and neatly arranged as Aunt Petunia’s garden had been though, which Harry liked. There was a faint sense of wildness and just a little chaos. 

“Oh, this is lovely!” Luna padded out on to the lawn and bent to look at buddleia bush that grew up against one of the fences. “Lots of flowers for all seasons. You’ll have to be careful to look after them all.”

“I thought of you.” Harry said the words without thinking, and then immediately wondered why he had. Replaying them in his head, he realised they sounded too intimate. Suggestive. He could feel the heat of an embarrassed flush in his cheeks, and was glad Ron and Hermione had left. 

But Luna just looked up at him with curious grey eyes, silently waiting for him to continue.

“When I saw the garden, I mean. I just, I thought it would be a nice place to sit and have tea.” He gestured to the patio. “And it made me think of you.”

He didn’t quite know why he was telling her this, but it was true. When the estate agent had brought him out to look at the garden, he had taken a look around and immediately visualised a little wooden table and chairs on the patio, where he could sit and enjoy the afternoon sunshine. And the person he had imagined sitting with him was Luna; he had seen her sitting cross legged beside him with a mug of tea, or looking at the flowers just the way she was doing now. 

“Oh, yes, it would be perfect,” Luna said, her voice as light as easy as normal as though he had said nothing out of the ordinary. Relief rippled quietly though him. “And we could have some of Kreacher’s apple pie.”

“Definitely.” Harry grinned, at ease again. 

Aware of the weight of the dirigible plum cutting in his arm, he turned a little to try and find a spot to place it. For now the corner of the patio seemed best, underneath the kitchen window. Later he could find somewhere by the fence to actually plant it, although he would have to be careful when it flowered that no muggles saw the floating fruit it would produce. Perhaps a concealment charm would work … he’d have to ask Hermione.

As he set the heavy pot down, he called over his shoulder to Luna. “Thinking about apple pie’s making me hungry. Do you want to stay for dinner? I don’t have a table or chairs yet but Hermione lent me some blankets so we could have a picnic in the living room or something …”

“I’ve never had a picnic indoors before. It sounds very fun, though.” 

He could picture Luna’s expression even though his back was turned; her eyes would have that faraway, thoughtful gleam in them, and her nose would wrinkle just a little as her lips curved up. It was strange, to realise he knew her that well, but oddly comforting. Next to Ron and Hermione, Luna was probably his closest friend. 

“Neither have I, to be honest.”

“Then it can be a fun experiment for both of us.” 

Her voice came from just behind him, and he turned around to see she had moved back across the garden. A stray lock of hair had fallen into her eyes and as she looked up at him something seemed to shift into place in his mind and he realised he felt completely relaxed and comfortable, as if the burdens he always seemed to carry around had been lifted for once. He felt lighter, freer somehow. 

Maybe he didn’t have any furniture, and maybe he had no real idea of how to live by himself or where to even start when it came to picturing the future, but he knew he was in the right place. That this move had been the right one. 

He smiled down at Luna. “A picnic it is.”


	10. Silver

“Okay. This was a really good idea.”

Harry leaned back on the blanket spread out beneath him, enjoying the warmth of sun soaking into his skin. Sunlight had a heat like no other, seeming to seep through to his very bones and warm him from the inside out. With a gentle breeze dancing over him, keeping him from burning, he felt like he would be content to lie there for hours, utterly relaxed for once.

“A really, _really_ good idea,” Ron agreed beside him, also stretched out on a blanket and looking like he might drift off to sleep at any moment. Which, knowing Ron, was a distinct possibility. “Why have we not done this before?”

“Oh, you know. School. Work. Hunting horcruxes while trying to avoid being killed by Death Eaters,” Harry said, flinging an arm over his face so he could enjoy the sun without it blinding him. “Doesn’t leave much time for days on the beach.”

“Right. Knew there was something.”

From a few feet away the sound of their friends’ laughter echoed back to them. Unlike them, Ginny had run straight for the sea and had dragged Anthony, George, Neville and Luna with her. Hermione had hovered for a while, sitting beside Harry and Ron with a book, but she kept throwing glances at the water and at Ron’s encouragement had eventually gone to join the others. 

It had been decided - Harry wasn’t entirely sure who had decided it, but someone had and the rest of them had just gone along with it - that a day at the beach all together would be the perfect way to end the summer. Harry had to admit, so far it had been. He hadn’t really known what to expect, as the only other time he had ever really been to a beach was during the brief stay at Shell Cottage, and his mind had been too clouded with grief, worry and planning to think of anything else.

Now, though, he finally understood why the children he had gone to primary school with had always been so excited about their summer holidays (the Dursleys had always left him with Mrs Figg when they went on holiday). With the sun overhead in a clear, cornflower blue sky, the sand, soft and warm and golden, and the water clear and shimmering in the bright sunlight, it was like a picture from a postcard. There were a few muggle families further up the beach, but they had managed to get a little corner to themselves and, besides, it wasn’t like they needed to use magic. Today was all about rest, relaxation and fun, three things Harry had to admit he sorely needed.

The last few weeks had seen his, Ron’s and Neville’s workloads triple, as after months of relative calm a splinter cell of blood supremacists and Voldemort supporters who had so far eluded arrest had reappeared. So far there had only been small attacks - vandalism and harassment of muggles and muggleborns - but the message was clear: even if Voldemort himself was gone, there were still those out there who were making it their mission to see his aims through.

Harry didn’t think it was a coincidence that these attacks had started at the same time as the trials for those arrested by the Ministry for war crimes were beginning. But the question everyone wanted answered was if and when these people would move from small scale violence - attacking in short, organised bursts before disappearing again - to something bigger.

If it came to that, Harry fully intended to be on the front lines. He would be taking his final tests before becoming a fully inducted auror in the new year, and he thought he might be able to persuade Kingsley to let him take them early if it looked like there would be fighting.  
Quite probably there wouldn’t be. Likely the culprits would either make a mistake and get caught before long, or they would decide it wasn’t worth the risk and retreat back into obscurity. But if there was …

.... it was probably arrogant, or perhaps just part and parcel of his ‘saving people thing’ as Hermione put it, but Harry felt that these people were somehow his responsibility. 

He knew that they weren’t. He had never been responsible for Voldemort and his followers and, as Luna had once told him, it had not just been his war. But he had been the one put in the position to end the war, and somehow he felt like he couldn’t truly say he had completed that task until these Death Eaters, or whatever they were calling themselves, had been stopped.

When that had happened? There had been a time in his life, he was sure, when he didn’t feel responsible for making sure the world was still turning tomorrow. Or maybe there hadn’t been. He had, after all, decided to try and single-handedly save the Philosopher’s Stone when he was eleven. True, no one other than Ron and Hermione believed the Stone was genuinely in danger. If McGonagall had listened to him, he would have been happy to hand over the responsibility of saving it to her.

Or would he? 

He and Ron had known that Gilderoy Lockhart was useless, but had still gone to him rather than any of the other, competent, teachers with information about the basilisk. Had that been in some strange subconscious way, a deliberate decision? Had he been trying to take on responsibility for everyone else’s safety since the moment he found out his parents had died to save him?

Opening his eyes, he frowned up at the sky. This was not helping him relax.

With a sigh he pushed himself into a sitting position and looked down the beach for his friends. If the snores coming from his side were anything to judge by Ron had actually gone to sleep, so perhaps he’d join the others for a while.

They had moved a little further away from the sea, although they were still close enough that the waves would just brush the sides of their feet if they took a couple of steps back. Either George or Ginny must have brought a quaffle, as they were tossing it to each other in a rough circle. Harry glanced briefly at the muggle families sharing the beach with them, but he supposed from a distance it probably just looked like a netball or a football. 

As Harry watched, Hermione almost fumbled the ball before getting a decent hold and throwing it on to Neville. He did drop it, but quickly scooped it up and tossed it to Ginny, who threw it in a curving spin to try catch George out. It was close, but George just got his fingertips on it and managed to roll it into his palms with a triumphant shout. He was grinning widely as he threw it lazily to Anthony. 

When Anthony threw the ball back to Hermione, Harry suddenly realised that Luna was no longer with the group. But she hadn’t come back to sit with him and Ron either.

Getting to his feet, Harry looked back down the beach to see if he could spot her familiar blonde hair. There was no sign of her anywhere near the muggles, so he turned in a slow circle to see if she had wandered back up the hills towards the car park.

She wasn’t there either, and Harry was starting to frown when he caught sight of her clambering over the rock formation a little way down to the right, bent close to the ground like she was searching for something. 

Curious, he headed towards her. As he approached she caught sight of him, straightened and gave a smile.

Luna suited being at the beach, Harry thought. Her hair was pulled back into a long plait, the breeze just teasing a few strands loose, and in the bright sunlight it looked a deeper gold than its usual ash blonde. There was colour in her normally pale cheeks, giving her skin a healthy glow. She was wearing a top made of some floaty white material and denim shorts, and she looked like she spent every day wandering barefoot over the sand and through the water.

“Hello, Harry.”

“Hi. What are you doing?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of her.

She held out the small string bag she was carrying, so Harry could see inside. It was filled with various shells - some large and clam-like, others small and spiralling, but all brightly coloured and beautiful. He reached out a picked up the one on top, a small green shell shot through with gold. 

“You collect shells?” 

“I do today.” She smiled at Harry’s slightly bemused expression and shrugged. “I have a lot of collections. Things I think are interesting, or pretty. I like to do things with them, make things.”

“Like your butterbeer cork necklace?” 

Luna nodded. Casting her eyes over the ground she started walking back towards the water, Harry following along beside her. He kept an eye open for shells as he went, finding it a pleasant distraction from his worries. 

Picking up a large, pinkish shell, he held it out for her inspection. “So what are you going to make with these?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Luna said, looking the shell over but then shaking her head. “I saw a picture frame made of seashells once, that might be nice. The bigger ones could hold candles or flowers, I suppose. Or maybe a wall hanging or a mobile, like Bill and Fleur have.”

Stopping, she bent down and started shifting through a small piles of shells that had collected in a dip in the sand. Harry crouched down beside her, digging some of the more solidly embedded ones out while she looked at the others.

“So what other collections do you have?”

“My quills. Although I don’t really do anything with them unless they break. Then I use the feathers for decorating things.”

That wasn’t a surprise after their trip to Scrivenshafts. He wondered now if the feather earrings she had wonder for the Memorial Day celebration had been old quills of hers. 

“What else?”

Luna didn’t answer for a moment, holding up a small white shell to get a good look at it. After turning it over a few times she dropped it in her string back. “Pebbles. I’ve found some lovely ones when I’ve been on holiday with Dad. I used them to decorate our garden at home.”

“That sounds nice. Maybe I’ll start looking for pebbles now I’ve got a garden,” Harry mused. He hadn’t given much thought to the little garden at the back of his house, too busy buying furniture and decorations for the inside. But it would be nice to feel his garden looked good as well, and was a place he wanted to sit in.

“You’ll be surprised what you can find.”

He held out a bluish shell with little veins of grey, which Luna approved and added to her collection.

They searched for a while in companionable silence, then a thought occurred to Harry. “Your Magizoology course starts soon, doesn’t it?”

Luna nodded. “In two weeks.”

Harry waited for her to continue but nothing seemed to be forthcoming, so after a few moments he prompted, “Are you are looking forward to it?”

There was a pause, her eyes drifting over him thoughtfully. “Yes. The course sounds very interesting. I’m looking forward to the in-depth studying.”

Something seemed to be left unsaid, though, a kind of space in the air that was waiting for words. A year ago Harry might not have noticed it, but he knew Luna much better now and he knew there was something else going in her head.

“But …?”

The only reply was the clacking of the shells as Luna turned them over and dropped them back on the pile. Then she stopped and slowly lifted her gaze to meet his. “It was nice having friends at Hogwarts the last few years.”

The change of subject took Harry by surprise and he frowned, until he actually turned her words over in his mind and realised what she was trying to tell him.

“And now you have to start all over again.”

“I don’t mind, you know. People thinking I’m a bit odd. It just ...”

“It gets lonely.”

Slowly, she nodded, like she wasn’t entirely sure herself. Harry had to wonder if she had ever talked to anyone about this before. For all her intuition regarding other people’s feelings, it occurred to Harry now that she didn’t talk about her own very often. 

Much of that he had always put down to the fact that she was confident and happy in herself. Harry believed she really didn’t mind if people didn’t understand her or found her odd. She was unapologetically herself and wouldn’t change for anyone. Having struggled so much with other people’s perceptions of him, Harry envied her that. 

But he had always had Ron and Hermione to fall back on, and even when people thought he was the Heir of Slytherin he hadn’t been a complete pariah. But Luna … Luna’s oddness, for all she embraced it herself, had stopped other people getting close to her. She had been left alone, and had never had anyone other than her father to confide in before. 

That had to be difficult, no matter how confident you were. 

“Was it very difficult?” he asked quietly, “With the Ravenclaws?”

Luna shook her head. “It wasn’t so bad. Most of them were quite nice. We have a bit of a tendency to caught up in our own interests, though.”

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what to say. He knew several Ravenclaws, of course, but other than his brief relationship with Cho he had never been terribly close to any of them except Luna. He had no idea what the House dynamic was like, although they had seemed to have their friendship groups like every other House did. 

Finally he shrugged. “Well, if they didn’t appreciate you, it’s their loss.”

For some reason that seemed to surprise her, and then a slow beaming smile spread across her face and Harry felt something relax in his chest at the realisation that he’d said the right thing. 

“That’s a nice thing to say. Thank you.”

He smiled, turning a shell over in his fingers. 

“Do you remember those coins we used for the DA?” he said suddenly, an idea forming.

“Of course. I still have mine.”

“Well. I’ve been practicing the charm Hermione used to make them. The Protean Charm. We have to know it for our Auror tests, so we have ways to communicate if we need to minimise the danger of being seen or heard, you know?” 

Luna looked slightly puzzled, but nodded. “That makes sense. If you were trying to spring a trap, or something, you wouldn’t want to tip your hand.”

“Exactly. Well. Maybe we could use it on a couple of these shells?” Harry held up the one in his hand, a large shell of swirling white and gold. “You could keep yours with you on your course and if you feel lonely, you can use it. And then I can send a message back to you, so you know you’ve always got a friend.”

In truth he wasn’t entirely sure the idea was even magically feasible, since he was still just getting the knack of the Protean Charm; the idea had sprung half-formed into his mind and he had just blurted it out, realising here was a way he could begin to give back to Luna some of the kindness and comfort she had given him. 

She was staring at him, her wide eyes the same silver-grey as the sea stretched out behind them. Some emotion Harry couldn’t quite put a name to flickered in them, that the next second had turned into a bright, shining happiness as she reached down and pulled out a shell of similar size and colour to the one he was holding.

“I’d like that very much.”


	11. Prepared

To Harry’s immense pride and pleasure – and no small amount of relief – after a couple of false starts, and with some advice from Hermione, the Protean Charm worked like … well, like a charm. With a simple spell, he and Luna could now write whatever they wanted on their shell and it would show up on the other’s. 

At first they used them just as Harry had suggested; he sent Luna a message wishing her luck the first day of her course, and she let him know that everything went okay. Every so often she would send a message just asking how he was, which he soon realised was her way of reaching out and admitting she was feeling a little lonely. He started keeping the shell out on his desk, so he would see straight away when she sent one and could respond more quickly.

Then, as the weeks passed, they started talking more often. Luna would send facts and information she was learning from her classes – _Did you know unicorns can only reproduce every five years?_ – and Harry would talk about work or their friends, keeping her updated on everything that was going on. He began to look forward to seeing new words forming across the seashell, the messages bright spots in days that were often monotonous and tedious. 

By the time autumn had turned the world red and gold and begun to roll into winter, they were exchanging messages practically every day.

“What are you laughing at?” Ron asked, dropping on to a bench beside him one lunch hour. 

“Just a joke Luna sent.”

“I hope it’s better than the one about the leprechauns and the nargles,” Ron grunted, biting into his sandwich.

Harry couldn’t exactly blame him for being unimpressed. Luna had something of an odd sense of humour and the jokes she sent often didn’t make sense at first. What made Harry laugh was more the unexpectedness of them, and the fact that he could hear them in Luna’s voice, with the amusement with which she would tell them – as if they were the funniest jokes in the world and she couldn’t wait to share them.

“You two are close these days.”

Unwrapping his own lunch, Harry took a moment to register the words. When he did he looked up with a puzzled frown. “What?”

Ron shrugged. “You and Luna. I mean, you’ve always been friends, we’re all friends, but … I dunno. You seem a lot closer to her recently.”

He waved his hands as he spoke to punctuate his words, almost flinging bacon, lettuce and tomato everywhere as he did so. Not sure if he was exasperated or amused, Harry raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. So?”

“So nothing really. Just noticing.”

Harry was fairly certain he knew exactly what Ron was getting at – he’d suggested it once before, after all – but if he didn’t want to come straight out and ask then Harry wasn’t going to admit to anything.

Not that there was anything to admit to.

“Luna’s been a good friend,” he said after a moment. “I can talk to her about stuff.” 

“Talking.”

“Yes.”

“But you’re taking her to the Halloween party, right?”

It had been cancelled the previous year when everyone was still in the midst of rebuilding from the war, but it was apparently an annual tradition for the Ministry to hold a party for all its employees to celebrate Halloween. It was a casual affair – a buffet, music and dancing – and everyone had the option to bring a plus one from outside the Ministry. 

Harry shrugged. “Yeah. We’ll have fun together, and there’s no one else I want to take.”

Ron didn’t say anything, just made a non-committal murmur and went back to his lunch. Biting back a sigh, Harry shook his head.

“You know, I’m starting to understand what Hermione meant when she said you have the emotional range of a teaspoon.”

“Excuse you,” Ron said, raising his eyebrows. “I’m far more mature than I was at fifteen. I at least have the range of a tablespoon by now.”

“A very small tablespoon.”

“I don’t think you get small tablespoons. Just … tablespoons.”

They both laughed and the conversation turned to normal topics – the Chudley Cannons match next week that they had tickets for, and what they thought the team’s chances were against the Appleby Arrows; the new season’s Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products, which George had asked Ron to look over and offer a second opinion; their own Auror training and how much they weren’t looking forward to their final tests come January. But what Ron had implied stayed with Harry as he went back to his desk and paperwork, and through the afternoon’s training in concealment charms.

Did other people think he and Luna were dating as well? For all he could be oblivious, Ron was his closest friend, but Harry couldn’t quite decide if that meant Ron would notice things that outsiders wouldn’t, or if the fact that he thought Harry and Luna were more than friends meant it was likely other people would as well. 

Really, Harry supposed, he shouldn’t be surprised. It wasn’t as if no one had shown interest in his love life before, and he had been spending a lot of time with Luna lately – she had rapidly become one of his favourite people to be with – and now she was going with him to another party. She was his closest female friend, other than Hermione, who was happily in a relationship, so of course people would want to try and draw conclusions. 

When he got another message from her that evening, he thought idly that if gossips like Rita Skeeter knew how much they talked the papers would be full of speculation.

Not that he was bothered by the rumours themselves. He remembered Peeves taunting him in sixth year after he had asked Luna to Slughorn’s party with a made up song – _Potty loves Loony, Potty loves Loony_ – and thought now that where at sixteen he had been uncomfortable, at nineteen he would be proud to think someone as wonderful and caring as Luna might want to be with him. Time had a way of changing your perspective. 

No, what bothered him was the idea that people might hassle Luna about it. That she might be burdened by the assumptions that she was dating the Boy Who Lived, regardless of whether or not it was true. What if she was harassed by the Rita Skeeters of the world? What if there was someone she might actually want to be with, but missed out because of rumours about her and Harry?

(He tried to picture who that someone might be as the thought it, but for some reason thinking about Luna dating other people left him feeling on edge. After a moment’s reflection, he put it down to pre-emptive guilt that just by being her friend he might ruin a relationship for her.)

When the thoughts hadn’t left his mind by the night of the Halloween party, he decided he would need to talk to Luna about it. This wasn’t the first time someone had suggested his relationship with her might be more than platonic, but it was the first time he wasn’t able to just shrug it off. Maybe there was something they could do to head off any rumours. They could meet less often, although he hated the thought of not seeing her. Or perhaps they could just try and go out on a couple of dates with other people. There wasn’t really anyone Harry wanted to date right now, but if it would help Luna …

He sighed, straightening the sleeves of his dress robes. He was overthinking this. 

The flare of the fireplace announcing a visitor was a welcome distraction, and despite the confused clamour in his mind he couldn’t help smiling broadly when Luna herself stepped out of the emerald flames. She was, after all, still one of his best friends, and seeing her had a way of cheering him up. She was dressed tonight in purple and orange, her hair falling loose about her shoulders, and from her ears dangled two tiny carved pumpkins. 

“Hello, Harry.”

“Hi Luna. You look great.” 

She smiled and gave a little twirl. “Thank you. I thought it would be fun to wear Halloween colours. You look nice, too.”

“Thanks.” 

Remembering what he had been wanting to talk her about, Harry glanced down and started fidgeting with his sleeves again. How exactly did he go about starting this conversation? _Hey, Luna, so people may have started thinking we’re dating again and I just wondered how you feel about that?_

Looking back up, he realised several seconds had passed by in awkward silence and that Luna was watching him with thoughtful eyes.

Clearing his throat, he decided to just dive in. “Um. So, there … there’s something I wanted to talk to you about before we go …”

“I thought there might be,” Luna said with a smile. Despite his nerves, it brought a brief smile to Harry’s lips as well.

“Yes … well. It’s just something Ron said and, er, I couldn’t help thinking about it. I might just be being an idiot, actually it’s quite possible I’m being an idiot so if I am feel free to tell me but I just thought I should say something and -”

He stopped abruptly as Luna placed a hand on his arm. “Harry. It’s alright. Tell me, what did Ron say?” 

Feeling rather calmer, he nodded and tried again. “Right. He said, well, he mentioned the fact that we’d been spending a lot of time together. You and me, I mean. He was wondered if there was … if we were …”

“Seeing each other romantically?” Luna supplied and Harry nodded, grateful. She looked at him curiously. “We talked about this before. Neither of us minded the rumours. Have you changed your mind?”

“No, no. It’s not that.” Harry shook his head and frowned, not sure how to explain. “It’s just … I don’t want you to be hassled about it.”

“I haven’t been approached by the press, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

She sounded so earnest, so concerned about reassuring him that he couldn’t help feeling a rush of affection. She was always so selfless. He couldn’t blame her for thinking he was concerned for his own sake – he had been known to be prone to a certain level of self-absorption, although given his life experiences a good portion of that wasn’t unwarranted in his opinion. But this time he wanted to be clear that his worries were entirely for her sake.

“Well, that’s good. But it just got me thinking and I meant, er, one day you’re going to find someone you like. If you haven’t already.”

A flicker of surprise ran over Luna’s face, her eyebrows shooting slightly upwards.

“And if they think we’re dating, or I’m going to make things difficult for you …”

“Ah.” Luna’s expression cleared. “Surely there’s a simple solution for that. I would just tell them the truth. We’re not dating.”

That gave Harry pause. The way she said it, so casually, it made him feel like he was being excessively dramatic about the entire thing. “That’s true.”

Holding his gaze, she said quietly, voice serious, “Your friendship is very important to me, Harry. I would hope anyone I liked would understand that.”

Harry wasn’t sure he trusted himself to speak. Instead, while he gathered himself, he reached out and took her hand in his, squeezing her fingers lightly. Looking down at them, he swallowed and managed to reply, “Your friendship is very important to me, too.”

There was a gentle pressure as she squeezed his hand back. “Then there’s no problem.”

Bringing his eyes back up, he nodded. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” Her head tilted slightly to one side, and there was an expression in her eyes that Harry couldn’t quite decipher as she said, “I promise, you haven’t come between me and someone I have feelings for.”

Harry gave a quiet huff of amusement, his shoulders relaxing as relief washed over him. “Alright. But if I do -”

“I’ll tell you.” 

There was amusement lacing her words now and without really knowing why Harry found himself chuckling. Luna grinned, and all of his worries seemed far away and distant. It was absurd in a way, but he was so used to everything in his life being complicated that he didn’t really know how to make things simple. Luna always did though; he needed to start remembering that.

With that settled, they apparated out of Harry’s house to the Ministry for the party. It was being held in one of the larger offices in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but they arrived at an entrance a little way down the corridor so as to avoid accidentally apparating into the middle of a crowd. 

All of the desks had been taken to another room, replaced with round tables and chairs and the long buffet table against one wall, and the office looked considerably larger than it usually did. Jack o’ lanterns were dotted around in clusters on the tables and floor, and hung in the air, mouths and eyes glowing a warm orange as candle flames flickered inside. Space had been cleared to make a dance floor, with a gramophone set up on one side, and music formed a quiet backdrop to the laughter and chatter that filled the room.

Ron and Hermione were already there, at a table with Neville and Jenny. They were deep in conversation about something, and as they got closer, Harry was able to make out,  
“… no idea where they are?”

“Yes, but they’re constantly moving. We investigate every lead we get, but by the time we get there they’re already gone.”

“You’ll catch them eventually though, right?”

“It’s only a matter of time, especially if they keep coming out and causing trouble instead of staying hidden.”

“The trouble is how much trouble they’ll cause, and how much harm, before they are c – Harry, Luna!” Hermione had noticed them approaching and stood up to greet them. 

The others stopped, smiling to see their friends, and after hugs and hellos were exchanged and they were all sat down at the table, Ron looked over at Harry.

“We were just talking about -”

“- the Death Eaters that are still free?” Harry nodded. 

Little else had occupied their office for weeks. There was always someone working around the clock now, going through tips and evidence to find new leads as to where they were hiding. But, as Ron had explained, the trouble was that they were constantly on the move and, at the moment, the Aurors were a step behind. They were gaining, though; the last safe house they had raided had looked as if it had only been abandoned maybe an hour beforehand. 

Harry hadn’t been on that raid himself – none of the new recruits had, since they had yet to pass their final exams – but he hoped he would be ready, or Kingsley would make an exception, so he could go the next time they found a lead. He wanted to be there when they finally caught these last remnants of Voldemort’s regime and could declare the War finally and completely over. Then all their efforts could go towards making the Death Eaters and their supporters pay for their crimes, and rebuilding the world.

“They’ll be caught,” Harry said now, firmly. “They’re determined to be noticed, to make a statement, and the more visible they are the more likely it is that they’ll make a mistake and we’ll catch up with them.”

“I hope it’s soon,” Jenny said, eyes solemn. “People are getting … nervous since the attacks started again.”

“With good reason,” Hermione said grimly. 

A tense, heavy quiet fell over their table, leaving only the crooning strains of the music and the hum of other people’s conversations. They all looked to and from one another for several long moments, until Ron straightened up and said in a voice that was fiercely determined to be cheerful, “Well, there’s no point worrying about it tonight, is there? We’re doing everything we can. So let’s just enjoy the party. And maybe get something to eat – that buffet looks very appetising, and I don’t know about you lot, but I’m starving.”

His words made them all smile and chuckle quietly, although perhaps not as freely as they might usually have done. Ron glanced at Hermione and raised an eyebrow. Smiling, she shook her head fondly and got to her feet to follow him over to the buffet table and, soon enough, the rest of them all did the same.

The selection of food laid out certainly did look delicious, and reminded Harry strongly of the feasts they used to get at Hogwarts. The table was laden with enough choices for a small army – sausages wrapped in bacon, mini quiches, scotch eggs, chicken drumsticks, buttered slices of French bread, cheeseboards, and several bowls filled with salad. At one end of the table there were also desserts – cheesecake, lemon tart, pumpkin pie and a madeira cake layered with raspberry jam. At the other stood glasses and goblets with different drinks to choose from – wines and beer, but also pumpkin juice and other soft drinks for anyone who didn’t want anything alcoholic.

They all heaped their selections on to their plates and made their way back to the table, moods considerably cheered and the anxiety of the last few minutes, if not forgotten, pushed to one side for the time being.

“So, Luna, how’s your course going?” Neville asked as they sat back down.

“It’s all very interesting,” Luna said, “We’re studying habitats at the moment – finding them, recognising them, gathering samples. It’s a shame I didn’t know all of it when Dad and I were touring Sweden. We might have had more luck finding Crumple-Horned Snorkack nests.”

She didn’t say anything, but across the table Harry could see Hermione’s mouth tighten into a long-suffering line. Before her self-control lapsed, Harry attempted to divert the conversation.

“Well, you can use what you’ve learned when you go travelling after your course.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“You’re planning on travelling?” Jenny asked. 

Luna nodded and started describing her plans for after she had finished her course, which included an extended trip at least around Europe, if not further abroad if she could manage it, to study the creatures she was learning about in their natural habitats and writing about her findings. Harry listened to her with warm admiration and pride, but also with a strange feeling that accompanied the realisation that when she went she would be gone for months, maybe even more than a year.

They would keep in touch, Harry knew, but it would be different. Letters would be infrequent, depending on where she was, and though they had their shells he wasn’t confident that the spell would work over such long distances. Nor would there be casually seeing other at weekends or attending events like tonight. He had gotten so used to her being his life, that the thought of her being gone left him feeling oddly empty. 

He just wasn’t used to goodbyes, he told himself. Not ones that weren’t forced, anyway. In reality, it would be just an extended version of when she had still been at Hogwarts. 

Shaking the feeling off, he turned back to his food and the other conversation springing up around the table. While Hermione and Neville were talking of some headline she had read in a muggle newspaper – a fear of technology failing at the turn of the year with the new millennium – Harry fell into discussion with Ron about Quidditch, and how the League was shaping up this year. 

By the time they had all finished eating, the music had noticeably increased in volume and several people had made their way on to the dance floor and were swaying and twirling along. Hermione threw a questioning glance at Ron, and with a smile and a shrug he led her out on to the floor. 

Absently, Harry remembered the last time the three of them had been at an event like this, when Ron had been quietly seething with jealousy as he watched Hermione dance with Krum, but hadn’t understand what it was he was feeling. A faint smile curved Harry’s mouth as he thought how disbelieving but also overjoyed the fourteen-year-old-Ron would be to see himself now. 

The thought of the Yule Ball also made him glance at Luna, remembering that she had not gotten to attend. No one had asked her, something Harry really couldn’t begin to understand. Yes, Luna was a little eccentric, but she was also one of the most genuine, kindest and most insightful people he knew. Why was it so hard for people to look past the outer oddities to appreciate that?

“Do you want to dance?” he asked on impulse.

Luna glanced up at him with mild surprise, then nodded. “That would be nice.”

Harry smiled and, taking her hand, followed their friends on to the dance floor. The music being played was a low, flowing song, not quite a slow-dance but not a fast, upbeat tempo either. It was gentle, though, a bit like the flowing water of a clear stream.

“You know, I’ve never really danced before,” Luna admitted, putting one hand on Harry’s should while he set his on her waist. “Not with another person. I’m not entirely sure what to do.”

“I have danced before, but I’m not entirely sure either.”

They laughed together, and after a few awkward attempts to move in opposite directions, settled into a rhythm that matched the beat of the music, moving their feet from side to side and turning in a slow circle. As he grew more comfortable with the motion Harry’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and Luna moved a little nearer to him. 

They turned, and a waft of what must have been Luna’s perfume – light and flowery, in a way that made him think of springtime - drifted under Harry’s nose and it struck him all of a sudden that he had never been this physically close to her before. There was only an inch or so of air between them and he could feel the warmth of her body, her hand resting on his shoulder and the sway of her back beneath his own open palm. When she looked up at him he could see for the first time that there were different shades of grey in her eyes – a lighter silver around her pupils and a darker, smokey grey ringing around the outside of her irises. He found himself looking at her mouth, and thinking her lips were pinker than the rest of her skin, like they had just been bitten.

There had been several times in Harry’s life when had felt himself to be out of his depth, and he had wished desperately that he could have had more time to ready himself for what he had to face next. But he didn’t think any amount of time would have been enough to be ready to look down at Luna and feel a flutter in his stomach, or his heart stutter against his ribs and in a single, stretched second, have various memories unfurl in his mind: laughing helplessly with her as they made shapes out of the stars, their many walks through Hogsmeade and the day on the beach, talking with her about things he couldn’t talk to anyone else about, the fleeting desire to kiss her fingers at the memorial, the odd unhappiness at the idea that he might come between her and another, or at being apart. 

Nothing at all could have prepared him for the dawning realisation that he had been wrong, so wrong, and that everyone else had been able to see what he couldn’t: that he was falling for Luna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been 84 years ....
> 
> So this fell by the wayside for a while, for which I'm very sorry. I started a new job and with travelling and whatnot I've had barely any time to write recently, and then getting back into this after so long was difficult. So I also apologise if that shows in this chapter, although I hope not.
> 
> If you're still reading after all this time: you're amazing. I will keep updating, but I can't say how regularly updates will come.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was inspired by a 30 Day Drabble Challenge but (as the length of this chapter might tell you) it will probably take longer, as the chapters are likely to all be fairly long. 
> 
> I will forever be bitter that Harry and Luna weren't canon but oh well, that's what fanfic is for.
> 
> Posting this at half past midnight when I have to be up in the morning because I have a 7000 word essay to write. What is my life. 
> 
> This was posted on harrypotterfanfiction.com under the name 'Golden Fool' but I've tweaked it a little before posting here.


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